Star Rider on the Razor’s Edge is the first book in the series. It came about as a result of a series of six dreams that were like watching an action-packed sci-fi movie.
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Healer’s Blade takes place in medieval England in the 11th century during William the Conqueror’s time. The novel is well-researched but deviates to alternative history by adding gunpowder and a tribe that didn’t exist.
What I enjoyed about this novel was how the main characters were all interconnected in unexpected ways. I also liked that none of the main characters were all good or bad. They were all complex and had suffered great losses from the horrors of Williams’s conquest and the following revolts.
The basic story is that William the Conqueror has taken over England, but rules as a tyrant. When he is out of the country, some of the nobles rebel against him.
Aliwayn, a young healer, is caught up in the middle of the revolt. She has every reason to hate King William but she sides with him in hopes of peace for England.
Toby is a knight rebel. He and Aliwayn’s paths cross again and again. They help each other while at the same time are hostile to each other as enemies on opposing sides of the revolt.
The book is fast-paced, especially in the first two-thirds. Aliwayn and Toby go from one life-threatening situation to another. Along the way, they are drawn to each other.
If you like speculative, alternate history books with a touch of romance, you’re sure to love this one.
Here is the blurb about the story.
In a country torn by war, can a young peasant woman change the fate of England?
1075 A.D., nine years after the Norman Conquest.
Eighteen-year-old healer Aliwyn lives in solitude after a series of medical failures leave her alienated from her village. With the rebellion against William the Conqueror rumbling on the horizon, she finds solace in the tranquility of her home.
But when her beloved arrives with the orphaned daughter of a Norman knight, Aliwyn is plunged into the bloody conflict she’s done her best to avoid. One daring escape from enemy arrows entangles her with the revolt’s charismatic young leader, Tobias, and Aliwyn finds herself swept into a dangerous world of rival factions and secret alliances. Faced with mercenaries and renegade knights, she must make difficult choices about treating those she despises.
After she uncovers the fiery secret underpinning the rebellion, Aliwyn is determined to take fate into her own hands and save England from sweeping destruction. Can she find the courage to fight for what she believes? And can she resist the magnetic charms of the man she has vowed to defeat?
Step into a riveting and magic-free YA fantasy adventure with an authentic historical setting and a dash of irresistible slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers romance. Set in a turbulent medieval England rocked by the early introduction of gunpowder and populated by Celtic-inspired forest tribes, Healer’s Blade is a page-turning read that’s perfect for fans of alternative history.
About the Author
Hailing from the unpredictable snowstorms of Quebec, Canada, Kyrie Wang’s a medical mystery detective (fancy words for “pathologist, MD”) by day and a dreamweaver of historical fantasy by night. Pencil on paper makes her cry and laugh, and every book she writes is living another life!
She has a PASSION for crafting stories that explore the humanity common to us all. Where people find their authentic selves, goodness prevails, and the forgotten and voiceless rise as heroes.
Somewhere between sleuthing with her microscope and crafting hamster toys with her daughter, Kyrie sits down and types. You’d never catch her without (quality dark) chocolate in her bag. She would bike in Canadian January to a froyo store.
Just ask her best friend of 11 years- she was the cashier!
Here is a trailer for Healer’s Blade.
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Last week I went to my friend Beth Obermeyer’s celebration for her new book When Winter Came, A country doctor’s journey to fight the flu pandemic of 1918. The book was published by the Mayo Clinic Press. The Mayo Clinic is a world-renowned medical center in Rochester, Minnesota. Her book is the first book they’ve published that isn’t a medical book
 Fifteen years ago, I was in a critique group with Beth called The Caribou Scribblers. I still have a silver pencil from the time Beth had pencils made for us with the group’s name written on the side. It was fun to be a part of Beth’s book launch. It was a happy occasion with neighbors, friends, and other writers. It was held at friend of Beth’s beautiful mansion in Minneapolis. |
Beth’s grandfather, Dr. Pierre Sartor, was a doctor in Iowa in 1918 during the flu epidemic that hit the world near the end of World War 1. The flu killed 50 million people. Dr. Sartor treated over 1,100 patients and by his reckoning only lost five. How did he do it? He was treating farm families who didn’t have electricity or indoor plumbing. They couldn’t call the grocery store for home delivery or open their freezer to find something to eat. They didn’t have a hospital or vaccinations.
From his journal, we know he kept the patients isolated. The sick person’s family would go to a neighbor’s home. He kept the windows open, burned sheets, and had people wear masks. He also prayed by the side of his patients.
He visited the flu victims regularly by car or switched to a horse and sleigh when the road conditions were bad due to blizzards. Moreover, he organized a team of townspeople to tend to the sick. And he told well people to stay home so the disease wouldn’t spread.
The book was a major accomplishment for Beth who is now 81. She said she’s been working on the book for ten years. She kept working even after her husband died suddenly and unexpectantly. When asked what she planned to do next she answered. “Play the piano.” She accomplished what she set out to do and doesn’t have plans to write another book. Though she can’t rest yet as she’s currently in the middle of promoting the book including traveling to Iowa. There she’ll be well received by the many families who wouldn’t be here if her grandfather hadn’t saved their ancestors’ lives.
As I read the book, I thought of cycles. Beth wrote the book during the covid-19 pandemic. Diseases often come in cycles. We’ve all heard of the bubonic plague in the mid-1300s in Europe and Asia. We’ve heard of polio and smallpox sweeping across the world.
There are also cycles of wars such as World Wars 1 and 2 and now the war in Ukraine and other places in the world. Other cycles include economic cycles of recession, depressions and inflation.
Seeing things from this larger overview of cycles makes it easier to accept the hard times. We know that this too will pass. Pandemics and wars end, and prosperity returns.
When Winter Came is a success story about Dr. Pierre Sartor. He was a sickly child born in Luxembourg. He immigrated to the United States where he became a doctor who saved many lives. His story mirrors many of the immigrants who have come to the United States. The story made me reflect on my relatives and what they sacrificed and suffered to leave their homes and come to the United States.
When Winter Came is available at bookstores across the country and online. It’s full of colored photos and three original watercolors
A friend recently said that science fiction is just a story set in space.
That got me to thinking. Sci-fi should be more than just a story set in
space. Good sci-fi should ask questions and explore issues. By doing so it can
help us prepare for the future. Many ideas that were first explored in science
fiction become realities.
Some of the questions sci-fi authors and film makers have explored are: What happens if there is a world war and civilization is wiped out? (Apocalypse books) What happens if aliens attack earth? (Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card or Star ship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein) What will our first contact with other intelligent being be like? (ET)What if we use robots to do much of our work and they start acting strange? (HAL in Space Odyssey) What if we develop AIs that look and act like humans. Should AIs have the same rights as humans? Do we have the right to develop AIs as sex slaves? (Ex Machina) What if we could time travel? How would that change our present-day events if we went back and changed a past event? (The Outlander series) What if we can travel to other planets with space jumps. (Star Wars and Star Trek)
In my Star Rider series I explore many topics. Some of the questions I
explore include: How would you fight an evil ancient sorcerer that has declared
himself a god and is trying to take over the galaxy? What if there is an
interplanetary war over desirable planets with air, water, animals and plants
that can support life? Should we protect planets that have less advanced
intelligent beings from invasion? What is it like to dogfight in space knowing
you can’t eject out of the ship because you’d die in space? What would it be
like to be from a technologically advanced planet and find yourself in a
primitive planet cut off from any way to contact your starship? What kind of
plants and animals would there be? What would the landscape look like? What
would it be like to live in a dome city where you can’t go outside without a
spacesuit on? What would it be like to live on a spaceship and never be
outside? What will people in the future wear? What might other intelligent life
forms look like? What would it be like to use androids that look like us? How
would you travel faster than the speed of light? How would you contact someone
on another planet?
Next time you read a science fiction book think about the questions being explored and how this genre has enriched the world.
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Angela Treat Lyon is a prolific and versatile artist who does drawings, paintings and sculpture. When I went to Angela’s site, I was struck by her art work especially the sculptures. I was also struck by her words and how they apply to all types of artists, including writers.
On her home page, Angela says when people asked her what her painting meant, she thought the person should allow the piece to speak for itself, not realizing that not everyone knows how to do that. A writer has to take that into consideration as well. An author wants a book to speak for itself, but a story means different things to different people depending on their past experiences and background.
For example, one person may relate to the characters camping in the wilderness like my characters, Fawn and Baymond, in Call of the Eagle. Other people may have never camped and be curious as it what the experience is like.
Angela said that a seasoned collector told her that people want an experience, to be drawn in as she was drawn in. “To be in your shoes as you create and bring this painting and sculpture into manifestation.” This is true for writers as well, the reader wants to be drawn into the story world, so they feel almost as if they are the character. In Call of the Wind as the reader you can experience what it’s like to ride on a sand tiger and feel the wind against your skin as you race across the desert.
This newsletter is another way I bring you into my author world, revealing how I create my stories, my characters and their adventures.
Angela, went on to say, “They (the viewers) want a shift of thinking that leads them from ordinary, everyday consciousness – a journey into the world created by the image or the sculpture – and out the other side with a new, wonderful perception.” This again applies to novels. The reader wants to be transported from their everyday world and journey into the story world where they are transported into a new exciting perception.
Angela goes on to say: “Art is about creating and transmitting new perceptions to you, the viewer. So that’s what I strive for: pieces that take you, the viewer, to another experience, another world, another realm, where you can enjoy rich, gem-like blasts of fantasy color, or rounded, voluptuous sculptural forms, and whimsical or powerful, poignant emotion.” Again this applies to authors as well. The writer takes the reader to another experience, another world or realm.
In my book, Call of the Wind, you can enjoy what it’s like to travel by spaceship to another planet where the people have green skin and gills, so they can swim without coming up for air. You can experience a world where the people are less technologically advanced, yet have skills we don’t have like communicating inwardly.
Here is a link to Angela Treat Lyon’s website.
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The fifth book in the exciting Star Rider, space opera series, Call of the Eagle, has just be published and is now available on Amazon as a print book.
Here is the first chapter:
1 White Sand Desert
Baymond awoke to the rustling sound of his father entering the tent.
“Time to get up,” Michio said. “The tribe’s breaking camp.”
Baymond sat up, fear hammering through him. Samrat soldiers would be searching for him and his parents and their only chance of survival was hiding among the Bajava tribal people. He rubbed his forehead, feeling thickheaded with fatigue after only four hours of sleep, but he knew it would pass once he got moving.
His mother yawned and looked at her watch. “Why are they breaking camp so early?”
Michio began rolling up his sleeping blanket. “They travel in the cooler part of the day and rest when the sun reaches its zenith. Baymond, we need to report for guard duty. Touch up your face paint before joining the other men.” Michio already resembled a Bajava warrior. He’d grown a beard, blue streaks shone in his dark hair, and a pattern of lines and dots were freshly painted on his forehead. He was dressed in the tribe’s traditional male clothing: a wide-sleeved shirt and light-colored pants.
Toemeka pulled a kaftan over her knit top and the close-fitting pants she’d slept in, then stuffed her blanket into her saddlebag. Her movements were quick, efficient and nervous. “I’ll keep guard with you.”
“Sorry, that’s not an option,” Michio said, opening the tent flap. “All the guards are men. We can’t do anything to cause suspicion. Only Einherjar and his wife Qara Boke know we’re from another planet. The rest of the tribe thinks I’m Einherjar’s brother from another tribe.” He left the tent.
“How long have you been traveling with the tribe?” Baymond asked his mother.
“We met Einherjar a few days ago through the Resistance. This will be our first day traveling with them. We have limited knowledge of their rules and traditions.” She pulled out several small jars and opened them.
Baymond dipped three fingers into the jar with cobalt blue dye and ran them through his black hair to add streaks. His normally short hair had grown long during the nearly six months he’d been in hiding. After adding the blue streaks to his hair and beard, he rubbed brown cream on his neck and the upper half of his face to darken it. “You and Dad both have deep tans. How long have you been on planet Saroka?”
“More than four months. We left home and made the long voyage to Saroka soon after Jake notified us that your G-4 Tornado fighter was hit by anti-aircraft shells and you were missing in action.” She started applying a pattern of red and white dots and lines on his forehead. It was strange to feel her tender touch and unconditional love as if he were still a child. He hadn’t seen her in almost two years. At sixteen, he’d lied about his age and joined the Coalition of Free Nations to become a fighter pilot.
She sat back and studied her work. “You won’t need brown face paint for long. You’ve always tanned easily. Why are you so pale?”
He rubbed brown paint on his hands. “I had to stay indoors so no one would discover where I was hiding.”
“Where were you hiding?”
“A young woman saw me parachute out of my fighter and her family hid me from Samrat Condor’s soldiers over the winter.”
Toemeka hugged him tightly. “I was afraid you were dead. There wasn’t any trace of your whereabouts until you were arrested and imprisoned.”
He felt her tremble as he hugged her back. “I’m all right now, Mom.”
“You must have been terrified, knowing you were about to be executed.”
“They thought I was a spy—I was out of uniform.”
“Being a prisoner of war wouldn’t have been a much better fate.”
“I spent the last four days in prison with a man named Norgrin.” Baymond pulled a small carved eagle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “He carved this for me using nothing but a small stone shard.”
His mother examined it. “It’s a beautiful carving.”
“Norgrin saw an eagle in his dream right before I was put in his cell. When he met me, he knew I was the eagle, the enlightened soul.”
“Interesting that he recognized you as the eagle from his dream.” She handed it back.
“He was a holy man and saw a vision.”
“I’m glad you had him as your cell mate. You’d better go join your father. I need to take down the tent.”
The tent was a primitive, handmade structure of cloth over wood poles. Nothing like the lightweight pop-up tents Baymond was used to. “Do you want some help?”
“No, the tribe considers it women’s work. You’d better go get your orders for the day.”
Baymond took a piece of meat jerky out of his saddlebag and began chewing it as he left the tent. It tasted gritty and probably had sand on it, but he was too hungry to throw it away. Outside, the sun was rising and the camp was already bursting with activity. The women were taking down the tents and packing the supplies. The children were carrying blankets over to the khevons. The sandy-colored beasts had large ears and a brown stripe down the center of their backs.
He looked in the other direction toward the desert. White sand stretched as far as he could see, with rolling dunes in the distance. It was devoid of life and eerily silent, contrasting with his memory of the woods near where he’d grown up that teemed with life.
Baymond’s gaze returned to camp. The guards were gathered around Einherjar, the tribal chief. He hurried over to them.
***
After taking down the tent, Toemeka tied it and their saddlebags onto the khevons. Michio and Baymond came over and thanked her, then mounted and rode off to patrol with the other men.
Once the caravan was ready to move on, Toemeka walked alongside Qara Boke. The elders and young rode in the wagons. The older children were in charge of the flock of neeree and of collecting the furry animal’s dung in baskets to use for fires. The neeree were funny-looking creatures with bushy tails that curled over their bodies and shaded their heads.
As she trudged along, Toemeka was glad she didn’t have a baby or toddler tied to her back like many of the women. She was still getting used to the heat and wasn’t looking forward to a day of walking across the sand in the sun. She adjusted her cloth head-covering so it covered her nose and mouth to keep from breathing in fine particles of sand.
After a while, an attractive young tribal woman joined them, introducing herself as Chrisshawna. Toemeka knew enough of the Deutzian language to hold a simple conversation. Chrisshawna was curious about Baymond and asked several questions about him, including if he had a wife.
When Chrisshawna wandered away to talk to some women her own age, Qara Boke stared thoughtfully after her. “Your son is handsome and strong, and Chrisshawna thinks he’s Einherjar’s nephew. You’ll have to warn him to stay away from her to avoid trouble. Bajava fathers are ferociously protective of their daughters, and young men don’t speak privately to girls of marriageable age without their father’s permission.”
Toemeka frowned uneasily “Thank you for warning me. Baymond’s used to men and women interacting freely. He’d think nothing of talking to one of the girls.” The last thing she wanted was trouble when Einherjar and Qara Boke had done so much for them. “Thank you for helping us.”
“It’s only right when your son came here to fight our common enemy.”
The morning grew hotter and hotter, and the tribe’s pace slowed. Sweat dripped down Toemeka’s forehead, and she felt it gather on her chest and back. “How much longer until we rest?” She stopped to take a drink from her water flask.
“We’ll stop soon. Your face is flushed. Walking is hard for people not used to the desert.”
The heat grew worse, and Toemeka felt like she was in an oven being roasted alive. She didn’t think she could go much further without rest.
Fortunately, Einherjar rode by on his khevon yelling, “We’ll break here.”
Toemeka helped set out the food and cut cheese made from the milk of the comical-looking neeree. After her morning trek, their bushy tails seemed to be sensible protection from the fierce sun. She placed the cheese on pottery plates, along with flatbread and dried fruit. While the meal was prepared, the men gathered in council, except for a few guards who rode the perimeter of the camp and scouted the desert.
When the council broke up, she brought plates over to Michio and Baymond.
Michio studied her. “You look exhausted.”
“Walking in this desert heat is draining. I’d prefer riding a sand tiger.”
Baymond finished chewing his cheese. “Maybe you could ride in one of the wagons.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that old.”
He felt his face heat up. “I didn’t mean to imply you were, but you were up most of the night searching the desert for Dad.”
“I’ll lie down after I eat.”
Baymond yawned. “So will I. Can you stay and eat with us?”
“That’s not the custom here.” Toemeka returned to where Qara Boke was visiting with the other women. After washing down a piece of cheese with some water, she glanced around for a place to sleep and spotted a rock outcrop a short distance from camp that would provide some shade. Once she’d hiked to it, she lay down on the shady side.
Toemeka was just about to sleep when Michio yelled, “Toemeka, look out!” Instantly alert, she sat up. An enormous reptile was racing toward her. Terrified, she glanced around for something to defend herself with. Spotting a rock, she grabbed it and sprang to her feet. The lizard-like creature looked to be nine feet long and was approaching fast. She shouted at it and hurled the rock at its head. It bounced off its scales. The creature stood still, its round eyes watching her as it raised and lowered itself on its two front legs. Then it leapt at her.
A sharp crack reverberated in the air. The beast twisted in the air and fell to the ground. Still alive, it spun around and started toward Michio who had almost reached it. He fired his rifle at the creature’s head two more times. It thrashed back and forth on the sand for a few minutes, then lay still.
Toemeka pressed her hand against her breast, feeling her heart race. She stared at the reptile in horror, realizing how close she’d come to being torn to shreds. Rifle in hand, Michio hurried over to her and drew her into his arms.
Einherjar rode up on his khevon. “Did the zellar monster bite either of you?”
Michio glanced at her, and she shook her head. “No, we’re both all right,” he said.
“I should have warned you to stay in camp, Toemeka,” Einherjar said. “Zellar monsters are rare, but their bite is deadly. Its venom paralyzes its prey to make eating it easy.”
Baymond arrived a moment later. “You all right, Mother?”
“Yes, just shaken.” She stared at the zellar monster. It was unusual looking with a gray and white striped body and a long, thick blue tail.
“That thing must weigh eight-hundred pounds,” Baymond said, studying it.
Michio gave it a poke with his foot. “It probably weighs more than that.”
Qara, Chrisshawna and some other women hurried over.
Chrisshawna gaped at the creature. “That’s a big one.”
“The desert gods are merciful!” Qara Boke said. “Few survive an attack by a zellar monster. It’s fortunate your husband was watching out for you, Toemeka.”
“I’m very lucky.” Toemeka felt Michio’s arm tighten around her.
Chrisshawna pulled her knife out of its sheath at her waist. “The meat from a zellar monster is delicious. Baymond, can you and your dad help flip it onto its back so we can slice through its soft belly? The scales on its back are too hard to cut through.”
Einherjar dismounted and, with the aid of his khevon and a rope, the three men managed to flip the creature onto its back. Qara Boke sliced down the middle of its stomach then she and Chrisshawna started cutting it up. The other women wrapped the chunks of meat in pieces of leather.
Chrisshawna smiled at Baymond. “We’ll have a feast tonight.”
Baymond grinned back. “Sounds great. I can’t remember the last time I had a feast. Can I help cut up the meat?”
She laughed. “That’s women’s work.”
Toemeka uneasily watched the friendly exchange. “Baymond, will you walk back to camp with us?”
He looked away from the butchering of the zellar monster. “Sure, what’s up?” He headed back to camp with his parents. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Toemeka related the warning Qara Boke had given about talking to young women of marriageable age.
“What a stupid custom,” Baymond said.
Toemeka narrowed her eyes. “Stupid or not, you’ll follow it, okay?”
“Yeah sure. I don’t want to be forced to marry Chrisshawna no matter how beautiful she is.” He looked back at the girl under discussion.
His parents exchanged a concerned glance.
Once all the meat was packed up, the camp moved on. Baymond rode alongside his father, guarding the perimeter of the camp. He was more diligent now that he knew to look out for zellar monsters as well as enemy soldiers and bandits. Einherjar said bandits weren’t likely to attack a large, guarded camp, but they’d been known to ride in firing rifles, snatch what they wanted, and ride off again.
“How long will we travel with the tribe?” Baymond asked.
“A few weeks. Once we reach the Hawyan Mountains, we’ll leave them and cross the mountains alone. On the other side is a coastal village that’s in unoccupied territory. Once there, we’ll contact Jake and he’ll fly us—” The rest of his words were drowned out by the roar of engines. Baymond apprehensively gazed upward. The inhabitants of planet Saroka didn’t have any aircraft, so it could only be an enemy. Soon a Talon fighter appeared overhead, flying low. Baymond clenched his jaw, recognizing it as one of the spaceships he’d fought in aerial battles on the missions he’d flown. A patrol ship had landed near the caravan the day before and searched the camp. The soldiers hadn’t recognized him in his tribal disguise, but he couldn’t count on the same thing happening today.
The fighter slowed, circled around and flew over them a second time. Baymond knew it carried enough firepower to destroy the entire tribe in minutes.
“Stay centered and control your thoughts,” Michio said, startling him. “They probably have a sorcerer on board powerful enough to detect anything unusual.”
Baymond immediately put up an inner shield of light and took a calming breath, grateful for his father’s presence. Michio was the spiritual leader of the Secret Teachings and served as an inner and outer teacher and guide to his followers. Most of the time Baymond just thought of him as his father, but in moments like this Master Michio’s heightened awareness, serenity and love enabled Baymond to find his own inner stillness.
Together father and son watched the ship, relaxed, but ready to take action if needed.
When it finally flew off, Baymond sighed with relief, thankful he and his parents weren’t alone in the vast desert with no place to hide.
***
That evening, the desert air became pleasantly cool. After setting up camp, Einherjar and Qara Boke invited Michio, Toemeka, and Baymond to join them for an evening feast of zellar monster meat, cactus pads and flowers, and flatbread. Several families were already gathered around a large fire when they arrived.
Around camp, other groups were doing the same thing. Apparently, Baymond thought, families ate together for celebrations.
Chrisshawna handed him a piece of raw zellar monster meat on a skewer. “This is the best part. It’s the inner piece of the tail.”
Baymond thanked her then squatted by the fire and held the meat over some coals, wondering what the meat would taste like. The wind shifted and he breathed in the burnt grass smell of the neeree dung smoke.
Other tribal members held out their skewers competing for the same spot of red coals. The smell of meat cooking made Baymond’s stomach rumble. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good meal. Food had grown short at Rissa’s and in prison the gruel and watery soup had left him perpetually hungry. One time his soup had an eyeball floating in it.
He turned his stick in the fire so the meat would be browned equally on all sides. It was taking too long to cook so he put it directly over the flames. It quickly became charcoal on the outside and he moved it back to the coals.
The wind blew smoke into his face, making his eyes water. He squeezed them shut, opening them again when the wind shifted.
Finally the meat looked and smelled done and he stepped away from the fire. He was so hungry by now that he didn’t care what it tasted like. He blew on the meat to cool it off and took a bite. It painfully burnt his tongue. He blew on it some more, then took another bite and chewed it slowly, analyzing the meat’s flavor. It was sharp and slightly fishy with a firm and chewy texture.
He looked up and saw Chrisshawna watching him across the fire. She smiled. “Good?”
He nodded, unable to reply with his mouth full.
“Have another piece.” She came over to him and held out a piece of raw meat. He put it on his skewer and held it over the coals, snacking on a cactus flower as it cooked.
Qara Boke wiped meat juice off her chin. “I love zellar monster meat. Thanks for killing it, Michio.”
Michio looked warmly at Toemeka. “I didn’t kill it for its meat.”
“The White Sand Desert is full of creatures,” Einherjar said. “As well as zellar monsters, there are poisonous insects and snakes, but none of them are as dangerous as the Talon soldiers.”
Baymond was sorry the tribal chief had brought up soldiers. He wanted to enjoy the evening and relax, but now tension was tight in his chest.
He heard the pounding of drums, then the lighter notes of flutes and stringed instruments joined in. Baymond turned toward the music floating on the air.
Einherjar rose. “A celebration wouldn’t be complete without music. Come.” He led the way to where a group of musicians had gathered.
Baymond listened, entranced. He missed playing his flute and asked the flautist if he could borrow the instrument. The man handed him the flute. As he began to play, everything faded away and he felt transported to a different world.
When he finished, he noticed Chrisshawna and others from the tribe had gathered around to hear him play. He handed the instrument back to its owner and thanked him.
Chrisshawna drew close. “That was amazing.”
“It’s a fine instrument,” Baymond said, still feeling the joy of having played it.
He continued listening to the music, absorbed in its sound when he noticed that a man with a distinctive blue beard was staring at him and Chrisshawna with a stern scowl.
Was the man Chrisshawna’s father?
He left her side and walked over to where his parents stood.
Toemeka smiled at him. “I loved hearing you play the flute.” She put her hand over her mouth as she began to yawn.
“It’s getting late,” Michio said. “Let’s go to bed.”
As they headed to their tent, a feeling of peacefulness settled over Baymond. He looked across the vast desert and at the expansive starlit sky above.
“It’s beautiful here,” his mother said as they all stopped to enjoy the view.
“Yes, it is,” Baymond said. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you both for rescuing me.” It concerned him that his parent’s lives were endangered because they’d come to planet Saroka to rescue him. Yet they both looked strong and fit; capable of surviving in this war-torn world. They’d seemed old to him when he was sixteen. Now he’d revised his thinking, in their mid-forties they were in the prime of life. They’d flown across the galaxy, found him, and successfully sprung him out of prison.
“Jake helped us find you,” Michio said. “He’s been searching for you ever since your ship crashed landed on Saroka. News of you didn’t surface until you were arrested.”
Baymond nodded, he wasn’t surprised Jake was hunting for him. He was a family friend and a skilled senior pilot who’d been training fighter pilots at the space station when he’d been shot down. “It’s really good to see both of you again. I’ve been lonely at times so far from home, family, and friends.” A lump formed in Baymond’s throat. He wanted to know about Fawn but was hesitant to ask. News that she was married would be hard to hear, but perhaps uncertainty was worse. “I’ve been wondering how . . . you know, how Princess Fawniteen is doing?”
“We’ve been gone almost as long as you’ve been missing in action,” his father replied. “We’ve had little contact with home.”
“Mother said the twins are staying at the Marsindi Palace,” he said, wondering about his younger siblings, Desha and Keegin. They’d be sixteen now and must miss their parents.
“We thought they’d enjoy the company of Fawn and her siblings,” his father said.
“Aren’t Queen Koriann and Prince Erling worried that one of their sons will fall in love with Desha?” Baymond bit his lip. “Sorry, that just slipped out. Did you know that Prince Erling offered to break off Fawn’s engagement to Prince Radcliff, so she and I could marry, but she told him not to?”
“Only because she was concerned about causing trouble between our country and the prince’s,” Mother said. “Your father and I went to see her soon after we found out you were missing in action, because Erling was worried about her. She’d shut herself up in her room and didn’t eat or sleep for days. She was recovering when she received your necklace and letter. That convinced her you knew you were going to die and she broke down a second time.”
“She was doing better when we left,” Father said.
Baymond sighed deeply. “It would be best if she forgot me. I take it she isn’t married yet, if she’s still at the Marsindi palace.” He squatted and picked up a handful of warm sand, letting it run through his fingers. Fawn was like the sand, he thought. She’d slipped through his fingers even though he’d tried to hold her close.
“Not that we know of,” Toemeka said, “but King Anthrop is in poor health and his last wish is to see his son married. It wouldn’t surprise me if Fawn consents to marry before her eighteenth birthday out of love for the old king.”
“I guess it wouldn’t really matter if she marries a few months early.”
“Have you come to terms with her engagement?” Michio asked.
Baymond stood back up, heavyhearted with resignation. “More or less.”
He could feel his mother’s eyes on him and knew she understood he was still healing.
“We’d better go to bed,” Michio said. “The tribe will move on early tomorrow morning, and we’re all short of sleep.”
They hiked to the tent in silence.
***
Eight days later, Baymond was riding with Einherjar and two other scouts when they spotted the small oasis the tribe was headed toward. When they rode into the shade cast by some tall desert trees, Baymond immediately sensed something was wrong. As he drew near the watering hole, the smell of rotting meat hit his nostrils, then he spotted the carcasses of several small animals in the grass. His khevon tried to gallop to the small pond for a drink, but Baymond held him back.
Einherjar and the two scouts dismounted and examined the dead animals and the water hole. “It’s been poisoned,” Einherjar said. “We’ll have to travel on to the next watering hole.”
“Who would have poisoned a precious source of water?” Baymond asked.
“Bandits wanting to steal our trade goods,” Einherjar said. “They’ll expect any traveler to go from here to the next closest watering hole where they’re probably waiting to attack. We’ll continue to the mountains instead. I think we can make it before our water runs out, if we ration it.”
He looked at the scouts. “Travel to the two nearest watering holes so we can find out where the bandits lay in wait.”
After the scouts left, Einherjar said to Baymond, “You and your parents need to separate from the tribe tonight. Have your parents call the sand tigers. If you travel at night and in the cool part of the day, you can make it to the Hawyan Mountains in about three days. There’s no point in involving you with our tribe’s troubles.”
“We should stay to help defend your people.”
“You and your parents are three more people using up our precious water supply, and you’re a danger to our entire tribe if the Samrat soldiers come back and discover you among us. Only the grace of the desert gods has kept them from recognizing you when they searched our camp.”
“We owe you so much. It doesn’t feel right to abandon your tribe in its time of need.”
“My people know how to disappear into the desert and our bodies are different from yours. We can exist on little water for a long period of time. You can’t. Don’t worry about us. My people were living in the desert long before you were born and will continue to live here after you turn to dust.
“The Samrat air troops are a much more serious danger than bandits,” Einherjar continued. “We are dependent on the Coalition air fleet to drive them off and save our planet.”
Einherjar and Baymond rode back to the cavern and shared the news about the poisoned waterhole with the other men. Afterwards, Baymond found his mother and relayed Einherjar’s instructions.
“Michio’s still out scouting,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him on his khevon. “When he returns to the caravan, we’ll call the sand tigers and prepare to leave tonight.”
Baymond dismounted. “Don’t you think we should stay and help the tribe?”
“Einherjar’s been generous to us, but now he needs to focus on the needs of his people.”
Baymond looked around at the women and children and wasn’t convinced the tribe didn’t need their help fighting the bandits. Yet Einherjar was right: if the Samrat soldiers found him among them, the whole tribe would be killed.
His mother touched his arm. “I’ll go talk to Einherjar and ask him what route we should take to the mountains. I’m worried we’ll be vulnerable to aircraft searching for us once we leave the tribe and are alone in the desert. Perhaps he knows of some caves, rock outcrops, or other places we can hide.”
She left and Baymond started walking his khevon over to the herd. Chrisshawna appeared and started walking beside him.
He tensed, wishing she wouldn’t keep seeking him out. He’d found out from Einherjar that the man with the blue beard was her father. His name was Seaden and he was known for having a quick temper.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Why aren’t we going to the oasis?”
He turned toward her, noticing how pretty she looked in her flowing desert clothing. “The watering hole was poisoned.”
“Don’t look at me!” she whispered. “I don’t want anyone to see us talking.”
He looked away. “Einherjar suspects bandits poisoned it. He sent scouts out to see where they are so the tribe can avoid them.”
“Bandits! By the goddesses of the golden sands, I hope they don’t find us. They’ve attacked other bands and stolen young women as well as all their goods.”
Baymond couldn’t help but glance at her again and their eyes met. He wondered what it would be like to marry Chrisshawna and live in the desert. The nomadic way of life offered a great deal of freedom.
The scuff of a heel sounded behind him and a rough hand grabbed his upper arm, wheeling him around so that he faced Seaden. The man’s eyes blazed and his face was blotched red with anger. “How dare you talk to my daughter without my permission! Do you think you can get away with it because you’re Einherjar’s nephew?
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This week I went to the Van Gogh exhibition that’s currently in large major cities across the United States. It’s designed to give the viewer the feeling of stepping into the paintings by using virtual projection technology.
In the lobby was a sign above a very large box of oil paint tubes that asks the question, “What is success?” Van Gogh only sold one painting in his lifetime. He wasn’t able to support himself and depended on money from his brother until his death at 37. He probably felt like a failure. Most of his 860 oil paintings were in the last two years of his life. Now his paintings go for millions of dollars and he’s considered one of the greatest artists of our times.
He wasn’t materially successful during his lifetime, but he must have felt a great inner desire to paint the world around him.
In Elizabeth Gilbert’s book about writing, Big Magic Creative Living Beyond Fear, she talks about the human desire to create or make things. She said writing (art or music etc.) isn’t a career but a vocation—a calling or mission. A career provides for us financially, a vocation may or may not.
She goes on to say you don’t have to be a genius to create. You don’t have to be the best. Everyone can and does create in some way. We shouldn’t compare ourselves with others or compete with others. Yet, sometimes we even compete with ourselves—our own past.
Achievements and it keeps us from continuing to create.
Gilbert became famous, after rich, after Eat, Pray, Love was published and later made into a movie. She said she’d write regardless if she had to support herself with a job. Her idea of creatively is that it is a gift, a joy and magic.
To her it doesn’t matter if it’s successful financially. Creativity has value in and of itself.
What does success mean to you? Do you agree with Gilbert? Do you enjoy doing creative things like writing, painting, gardening, cooking, and/or singing? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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This is some of the best figure skating you’ll ever see< Kamila Valieva
I’ve been thinking about courage lately and want to share two stories about aspects of courage.
The first one is about a talented fifteen-year-old Beijing Olympic figure skater, Kamilla Valieva from Russia. She broke records with her amazing figure skating. I went to YouTube to see her performance. Instead, I came across news reporters discussing how in the final competition, she’d fallen and stumbled several times, losing her chance at getting a medal. The reporter speculated she’d been thrown off by the pressure of the Olympics and by a ongoing doping investigation. After listening to the reporters, I viewed her free style skate routine and I saw something else. I saw a young woman who fell on the ice in front of the world and had the courage, fortitude and strength to get back up and skate the rest of her routine. She leaped into the air and spun around defying gravity and showed the world she was exceptional though her heart was breaking.
The next story about courage is from Top Gun, an old Tom Cruise movie I watched recently. Maverick, a cocky naval fighter pilot, wanted to win the top position at flight school. At one point in the movie, his fighter got caught in the backwash from another F-14 and he lost control of it. He and his RIO, his best friend Goose, ejected out of the fighter. Goose crashed into the canopy and was killed. Devastated by Goose’s death, Maverick considered dropping out of flight school. Instead, he found the courage to get back into the game and ended up saving another pilot when they are attacked by Russian MiGs.
We all have the go through experiences where we fail at something and want to give up. It’s not usually as dramatic as not getting a gold metal at the Olympics or crashing your F-14 fighter, but we all have the experience of metaphorically falling. We all struggle at times and have to find the courage to get back up and keep skating.
When Oprah Winfrey she was a child, she memorized the poem called Invictus by William Ernest Henley to recite in church. Invictus means unconquerable soul. She didn’t fully understand the poem, but she posted the last two lines on her bedroom wall.
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
Those lines inspired her to have a courageous life.
As a writer, I find it takes courage to step out in front of the world to share my stories, but it also makes my life more meaningful and fulfilling.
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The following is a blog post by Michael Manning. After reading about my Uncle Bart’s experience as a pilot in WW 2, he sent me this amazing story I wanted to share with you.
Thanks for the memoir of the B17. I really enjoyed reading it and it brought back vivid memories of my last lifetime.
In 1941 at the age of 20, I left Cambridge University where I had studied mathematics.
My name was William and I joined the Royal Air Force and entered the flight training program.
The next year, I received a commission with the rank of Captain and I began to fly one-man fighter planes over Germany and occupied France.
At the same time, my younger brother, George (nicknamed “Stretch” at 6 foot 5 inches), a factory worker in London, left his employment and, like me, joined the Royal Air Force. He trained to become a Gunnery Sargent, flying in B17 bombers like the one you described.
George and I would often go on bombing runs over occupied France and Germany.
My main job was to provide cover for the B17s, although I ended up getting into dog fights on a regular basis.
George/Stretch and I were very close, but he was jealous of my education and my rank of Captain. This has carried over to this lifetime where George, now my younger brother, Garry (still very tall), has been jealous of my university degree because he dropped out of high school. Thanks to the Mahanta, (my spiritual guide) that old wound was finally healed (I became very ill and unable to work for long periods of time whereas Garry has never missed a day of work in his life and eventually got his GED diploma.)
Back in Great Britain, I flew 17 missions protecting B17s and getting into dog fights. George was often in the B17 crews that I was assigned to protect.
On my 17th run, late in 1943 during a massive battle over Germany, I was assigned to protect the B17 with George in its crew.
I was hit hard on my left wing and it burst into flames. The left side of my body was badly burned and the left wing was eventually torn apart.
I was spinning out of control toward the ground. My last words were, “I love you little brother.”
Then, my plane hit the ground and burst into flames. I was instantly out of my body, enveloped in pure white light, and surrounded by the sound of HU.
Thanks for the memories, Heidi!
Michael Manning, author of Bringing Spirituality Down to Earth
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