Princess Tara's Second Author Reading

What do you do when you discover your parrot is a witch? A witch with a coffee addiction. And a mission to save your world from an evil cannibal warlock and his armies of the dead. And she needs your help.

Coming Summer 2017! Just finished writing Chapter Five of Book Two of The Princess Tara Chronicles, putting me half-way done with the dreaded second novel.

Chapters One through Four are posted on my blog: www.TheZenParrot.com

Book One of The Princess Tara Chronicles, Blue Tara; Or, How Is a Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Like a Tibetan Goddess? still available for FREE on Smashwords and almost for free on Amazon in both ebook and dead tree editions.

It's About Time Writers Reading Series, Seattle's Ballard Public Library, May 11, 2017. When you discover there's more to your parrot than you thought. Book One, Chapter Three, Part Three:

Book Two of The Princess Tara Chronicles: The Princess Witch, Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Part One

“I'm at a loss how to proceed,” Michael said to Jean, as they sat outside Jean’s coffee shop the next morning drinking coffee. Michael, Jean, three macaw parrots, Blue Tara in her Princess Tara form, Red Tara in her greenwing macaw form, Garuda in his blue and gold macaw form, and Margarita in her black cat form. Red Tara perched on Michael’s shoulder. Garuda perched on Jean’s shoulder. Princess Tara sat on the table top with her beak dunked in an iced latte. Margarita sprawled out in the sun on the edge of the sidewalk adjacent to the street. They tried to ignore the crowd of people gathered behind the coffee shop’s front window drinking their coffees while staring at the menagerie outside.

“We’ve got to go back through the tunnel at Charlie’s store and find our way back to the Indian village,” Jean replied, as she sipped her latte. Jean looked the picture of northwest chic in cargo shorts and a checked flannel shirt. Michael couldn’t help admiring her long slender legs as she sat cross-legged next to him at the table.

“But is this going to be a ghost hunt? What can we do for someone who’s dead?”

“I don’t know that he’s dead,” Jean said. “And apparently dead doesn’t mean what it used to mean,” she added. “Anyway, I’m going back with or without you.”

“What do the Taras have to say about any of this?” Michael asked.

“More coffee,” Princess Tara replied. “Please.”

“That was a serious question,” Michael responded. “What do the Taras think we should do?”

“Drink more coffee,” Princess Tara said. “When we are ready we will return to the spirit world. We must continue the search for the tlogwe. Wherever the tlogwe is, your friend will be close by.”

“Seattle is overrun with Deportation Police,” Michael said. “Shouldn’t we do something about that?”

“Our numbers are too small,” Princess Tara replied. “Their numbers are too great. We must await the remaining Taras to join us. We need to keep our focus on Hamatsa and his slaves. Once we defeat Hamatsa then these side shows will collapse by their own dead weight.”

“I’m guessing classes at the U Dub have been suspended for the duration,” Michael said. “What have I got to lose? However, I need to get back to my office so I can change into some appropriate clothes and grab the magic harpoon,” he said as he reached for his coffee.

Princess Tara screeched so discordantly Jean dropped her coffee cup. Red Tara hopped onto Jean’s shoulder. A red hand seemed to materialize out of thin air and catch the cup before it could shatter on the pavement, placing it back on the table. Jean craned her neck to look up at Red Tara’s gleaming white face and smiled. Before she could say ‘thank you’ Michael vanished and almost instantaneously reappeared, wearing hiking boots, blue jeans, and a flannel coat. He cradled the magic harpoon in his arms.

“Wow!” Michael exclaimed. “Can I finish my coffee now? Please warn me before you do that thing.”

Margarita growled and jumped up on her hind legs, peering into the sky. Princess Tara ruffled her feathers and stood erect, head tilted to the side, her gleaming yellow eye searching the heavens. Michael and Jean heard the slow flapping of immense wings well before the creature appeared in the sky overhead.

“Oh. My. Lord!” Michael exclaimed.

“What is it?” Jean asked, jumping to her feet.

“I don’t believe I’m seeing this,” Michael replied. “Ancient Indian legends call this creature a gagit. An immense flying monster with gigantic razor sharp claws and teeth. A monster covered with black greasy hair instead of feathers. It’s a pterodactyl. A flying eating killing machine.”

“My God!” Jean exclaimed. “How big is that thing?”

“Big,” Michael replied. “The largest of the pterodactyls, called a Quetzalcoatlus, had a nearly forty foot wingspan, big as a fighter jet.”

The gagit spread its wings and lazily circled overhead, slowly descending with each circle in the sky.

Aboo, the blue and gold macaw, screeched and hopped onto the table next to Princess Tara. “The creature is not a bird, and not of this world,” he said. “I have no influence over its actions.”

“I thought pterodactyls were extinct,” Michael said. “Along with all the other dinosaurs.”

“Apparently not,” Jean replied. “Actually dinosaurs did not go extinct. You’re looking at three of them here. Parrots are living dinosaurs, the oldest of the avians, so it’s no wonder there’s a pterodactyl flying overhead.”

“Should I try shooting it down with the magic harpoon?” Michael asked.

“It is just trying to scare you,” Princess Tara replied.

“It’s doing a good job,” Jean said.

“One gagit can not harm us,” Princess Tara responded.

“How do you know there’s only one of them?” Michael asked. “It might be a scout for a whole flock of those suckers.”

“We will deal with whatever comes,” Princess Tara replied.

Sweeping ever lower, the immense size of the creature quickly became apparent. Twenty foot wings pounded the air with each flap, sounding like a giant pile driver in the sky. The creature’s menacing teeth and claws glinted in the sunlight. Dropping nearly to treetop level, the creature let out a cry that shook the windows of the shops below. Crowds of people on the sidewalks who had stopped to stare at the pterodactyl screamed and ran for shelter. The pterodactyl dived to the ground and caught a man trying to dash across the street. Grabbing him by his head, the creature flipped the man into the air and swallowed him whole with its huge beak.

With a screech Red Tara leaped off Jean’s shoulder and whirled to the ground, a four armed red skinned Amazon goddess holding a long bow and arrows in her hands. Before the gagit could extend its wings and take flight Red Tara nocked and released an arrow from her bow. The arrow slammed into the creature’s head squarely between its eyes. The gagit stumbled and charged at Red Tara. A blinding blue dervish appeared at Red Tara’s side. Blue Tara raised her battle axe over her head with both of her hands and flung it at the monster. The blade whistled as it whirled through the air and struck the gagit in its skull. The gagit stumbled and fell forward onto the pavement. The creature tried to push itself off the ground with its wings. Red Tara nocked and released another arrow from her bow which split the arrow in the creature’s forehead. The creature collapsed to the ground, and did not move again.

“Look at the size of that thing!” Michael exclaimed, holding the magic harpoon at the ready as he slowly approached the pterodactyl. “Is it dead?”

“You better hope so,” Jean replied, “if you’re going to stand next to it.”

Michael backed away to a more comfortable distance.

“Oh, for chrissakes!” Michael exclaimed as the sky filled with the deafening sound of pounding wings. Everyone looked up. Two more gagits, pterodactyls, appeared overhead. Then another two. Then four more. And then another four. Soon a score or more of the hairy flying monsters filled the sky, blotting out the sun, the pounding noise from their gigantic flapping wings drowning out all conversation on the ground. Aboo, the blue and gold macaw, Lord Garuda, commenced screaming in response, with a scream of his own that threatened to burst already endangered eardrums.

One of the pterodactyls began to circle and rapidly descend to the ground. The gagit landed on the street near the body of the dead pterodactyl. This pterodactyl had a rider mounted on its long neck, a rider that literally was a skeleton. A living skeleton.

“Oh. My. God!” Jean yelled. “What is that?”

It’s Bokwus, Chief of the Dead!” Michael cried out. “Stay away from him. Anyone he kills becomes a ghost slave in his army of the dead.”

Michael pointed the magic harpoon at the ghoul, as Bokwus dismounted from the neck of the pterodactyl. Bokwus turned and stepped toward Michael. “You can not kill that which is already dead,” he said.

Michael stumbled backwards, almost dropping the harpoon while tripping over the curb. “What do you want?” Michael asked.

“My master has commanded me to take the witches that you protect,” Bokwus said, pointing at the Taras.

“That I protect?” Michael stammered. “Geez, are you ever misinformed. Stay back!” Michael demanded, once again pointing the magic harpoon at the skeleton stepping toward him. “Die!” Michael commanded. “The skeleton kept stepping forward.

“Your weapon is useless against me.”

Blue Tara stepped in front of Michael, battle axe in her hand. With one swing of the battle axe she separated Bokwus’ skull from the rest of his skeleton. The skeleton crumbled to the ground as the skull rolled to a stop at Michael’s feet. He swung the magic harpoon as hard as he could and smashed the skull to pieces.

“If he wasn’t dead before, he is now,” Michael boasted.

“Hamatsa is not as smart as he thinks,” Blue Tara replied.

Bokwus’ mount, the pterodactyl, began to flap its wings and run down the street trying to take flight. Red Tara nocked an arrow in her long bow and released it at the creature. The arrow struck the gagit in the back of its skull. The pterodactyl banked to its side, furiously flapping its wings, as it crashed into a storefront, shattering the window. Pushing against the building with its wings, the creature attempted to push itself back out of the wreckage. Lifting her battle axe over her head with both hands, Blue Tara flung the axe at the monster and split its head open. The gagit collapsed onto the sidewalk. The pterodactyls in the sky banked to the south and flew out of sight in the direction of Mt. Rainier.

“Glad I don’t have to clean up that mess,” Jean said, looking down the street at the wrecked storefront with a pterodactyl as big as a fighter jet in the window.

“Hamatsa is desperate,” Blue Tara said. “He’s throwing everything he’s got at us. He’s coming after us. It’s a sign of how much he fears us.”

Michael noticed that a crowd of people had gathered on the street, staring and pointing at the Taras. No doubt they had never imagined, let alone seen, a naked glowing blue skinned Amazon warrior with a battle axe, or a four armed almost naked red skinned witch with a long bow.

“Say,” Michael said. “Maybe we should get out of here. You seem to be attracting a lot of attention,” he added, looking at the Taras. Perfectly understandable attention, he thought to himself.

“You are right,” Blue Tara replied. She screeched, and Michael found himself on his knees in the Ballard apartment inside the St. Charles Hotel trying to protect his ears with his hands, along with Jean, Margarita, Aboo, and the three Taras, Blue, Black, and Red. Jean took Michael’s arms and helped him to his feet.

“My head just can’t take much more of this,” Michael insisted. Michael stepped to the bay window and looked up the street to the crowd of people gathered around the dead pterodactyls. “They’re going to have some wild stories to tell their grandkids,” he said. Then, looking down, he cried, “Oh, shit!”

Jean and the Taras rushed up to the window. Jean looked down at the sidewalk and screamed. “I thought you killed it!” she cried.

Bokwus stood on the sidewalk across the street from the St. Charles Hotel, looking up at the window. Passersby screamed at the sight of the living skeleton, and ran.

“There may be more than one,” Michael said. “They all look alike.”

“You crushed its skull,” Jean replied.

“He did say you can’t kill what’s already dead.”

“I need a beer,” Blue Tara said, walking back to the kitchen. “As long as we stay together Hamatsa’s ghouls can not harm us. He is trying to distract us and confuse us. We need to stay focused on our plan to search for the tlogwe.”

“How many other kinds of monsters are out there?” Jean asked. “Are we safe here, what with a living skeleton spying on us?”

“There is safety in our numbers, as long as we stay together,” Blue Tara replied, grabbing a can of Rainier out of the fridge. “You need to get us some more beer. This is the last can.”

Once again Blue Tara screeched without warning and Michael slapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut to try to shut out the pain of the head popping screech. The din of hundreds of squawking and shrieking birds assaulted his eardrums. Hesitantly he opened his eyes. They were back at Charlie’s bird store, all except for Aboo, the blue and gold macaw. Blue Tara stood in front of Michael drinking her can of beer. She handed Michael the magic harpoon. “Do not lose this,” she commanded. “It may save your life.”

“Lordy! Lordy!” Charlie stepped up to the group, hands on his hips, admiring the two naked and almost naked Amazon witches. “Did you folks see those giant birds that flew overhead? They even scared my birds. You could hear a pin fall in here when they flew over.”

“They’re not birds,” Michael replied. “They are gagits. Flying monsters. Pterodactyls. Living dinosaurs.”

“What were they doing?” Charlie asked.

“They were coming for the Taras,” Michael replied. “We killed two of them.”

“The Taras killed two of them,” Jean interjected.

“Right,” Michael added.

“We need to return to the city of the dead,” Blue Tara told Charlie, polishing off her beer.

Part Two

Hamatsa had his gloved hand on my neck and he squeezed so hard I almost passed out. His body reeked of the stench of death.

“Master,” Kinqalatlala entreated him.” “He is our best chance to capture Blue Tara. If you destroy him we lose that chance.”

Hamatsa released his grip on my neck and I collapsed to the ground. He reached down and grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to my feet.

“This pathetic excuse of a man does not deserve another chance,” Hamatsa said. “However, I give him to you as a play thing to do with as you wish. On the condition you complete my instructions.”

“Yes master,” Kinqalatlala replied.

Hamatsa pushed me into Kinqalatlala’s arms, turned, and disappeared into the longhouse. Kinqalatlala put her arms over my shoulders and pulled me to her. She licked my lips and stuck her tongue into my mouth. “Kiss me,” she commanded. “You heard the master. You are my slave now.” I stood unmoving. “Kiss me, or you’ll be damned to Hell!” She pressed her breasts against my chest, her lips against my lips, and her tongue against my tongue. I squirmed out of her grasp and pushed her away from me.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for the tlogwe?” I asked.

“We have all of eternity to search for the tlogwe. You are dead. Or have you forgotten?”

With her tongue sticking in my mouth I almost had forgotten I was dead. This certainly was not anything like what I ever imagined death might be like. I was relieved that Jean was not here with me.

“Assuming you find the tlogwe,” Kinqalatlala said, “what do you intend to do with the magic it will bring you, if it is granted to you?”

“Are you kidding? It should be obvious. Destroy Hamatsa. Destroy the Winalagalis. Bring down Dear Leader. Destroy you.”

“Why would you do that, even if you could?” Kinqalatlala asked me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Hamatsa wants to save your world. Dear Leader only wants peace and prosperity for his people. I wish you no harm,” she added as she quickly kissed me.

“Would you stop that,” I responded. “Hamatsa is trying to subjugate my world. Dear Leader is a self-absorbed narcissistic megalomaniac who has substituted a cult of personality for government.”

“We could be friends. And allies,” Kinqalatlala said, kissing me again.

“Oh, for chrissakes!” I grabbed her arms and pulled her to me and pressed my lips against hers, kissing her as hard as I could. “Is that what you want?” I asked, pushing her away from me.

“It’s a start.”

“We could never be allies, let alone friends, as long as you serve Hamatsa. Hamatsa wants to destroy the Taras. I can’t have that.”

“The Taras are witches. They have bewitched you. You need to beware the Taras. You don’t understand the kind of forces you are allied with. As far as Hamatsa is concerned, I have already explained to you my relationship with Hamatsa. And how we can help each other.”

“I will help you search for the tlogwe, only because I don’t think I have any choice in the matter. But one way or another, I will destroy Hamatsa. And you!” I turned and walked into the longhouse.

“Where are you going?” Kinqalatlala asked.

“I want to see where Hamatsa disappeared to.” I looked inside. The longhouse sat completely empty. “There must be some kind of portal in here that allows Hamatsa to travel between the world of the living and the world of the dead.”

“Hamatsa’s magic is beyond your comprehension,” Kinqalatlala replied. “You are only avoiding the task at hand to search for the tlogwe. I know you are stalling in the hope that the Taras rescue you. But it is a lost hope.”

Well, I could hope, I thought to myself. “Fine,” I said. I stepped out of the longhouse and started walking into the forest behind it.

“Where are you going?” Kinqalatlala asked.

“What do you think? Searching for the tlogwe.”

“But where are you going?” she repeated, as she ran after me.

“Searching for the tlogwe.” I stopped and faced her. “I don’t have a clue which way to go or even what I’m looking for. So I’m just going to go and hope for the best. Unless you can point me in the right direction. This way looks as good as any,” I added, pointing into the trees.

Kinqalatlala took my arm in her hand. “Brash actions can have undesirable consequences,” she said. “You should not just charge off into the unknown without a clear idea of what you are doing and where you are going.”

I got the distinct impression that Kinqalatlala was the one stalling now.

“You know something,” I said. “You should just tell me.”

“If only it was that simple,” she replied. “You need to prove yourself first.”

Now I knew that Kinqalatlala knew something that she wasn’t telling me.

“You’re talking in riddles now,” I said. “I’m not very good with riddles.”

“Life is a riddle. And death is a riddle. To find life requires solving the riddle of death.”

Kinqalatlala took my hand in hers. “The future is a riddle. Don’t you wish you could see your future? See if you have a future?” If you help me I can show you magic that will not only let you see your future but shape it.”

“I seriously doubt such magic exists,” I replied. “Or you would already know where to find the tlogwe.”

“You do not know that I may already know where the tlogwe is.”

“There’s an old riddle about the future,” I replied. “I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all, to live and breath on this terrestrial ball.”

“There is another old riddle,” Kinqalatlala responded. “What begins and has no end? What is the ending of all that begins?”

“That’s easy. Why, death of course.”

“But all I have shown you should convince you that is not true. Death can have an end just as life can have an end. I can give you the magic to allow you to travel between life and death.”

“Yes. But at what cost? To be your slave for the rest of eternity?”

“There are worse fates.”

“Not many. And why would you want me for your sex slave? I’m just a retired history professor. There must be all kinds of studs and jocks in the world you could corral into your stable.”

“But none as special as you,” Kinqalatlala replied. “Of all the studs and jocks as you call them in your city, Blue Tara picked you. That is the riddle I want most to solve. Why did she pick a goofy retired history professor?”

“Goofy? What does that mean?”

Kinqalatlala put her arms over my shoulders. “I’m just teasing you. You are a very special man. And I want to discover what makes you so special.”

“Right now I sure don’t feel special, what with being dead and all.”

“Yes, but you are special even in the manner of your death. Blue Tara chose you for a specific reason. She knew you must die. And she knew you must die at my hand.” Kinqalatlala raised her hand and as she looked at her fingers her hand transformed into a narrow steel blade. She ran the tip of the blade across my cheek. I felt a sharp pain as the blade cut my skin, and I could feel blood trickling down my neck. The blade reverted to her hand and she rubbed my blood across my cheek with her fingers and licked the blood with her tongue.

“Well, I guess I had to be dead to search for the tlogwe. The tlogwala will only give the treasure of the tlogwe to one brave enough to enter the realm of the dead. But it’s not like you gave me a choice.”

“Only someone who can prove themselves worthy of that magic can receive the gift of the tlogwe. And of all the people Blue Tara could choose, she chose you. She thinks you are worthy.”

“When the Taras show up to kick your butt I will ask her why she chose me. Why did Hamatsa choose you to be his slave. And not turn you into a zombie?”

“My master chose me because I am special as well.”

“How so?”

“I am Dluwulaxa, one of those who descend from the heavens. My people reside in a city in the sky. The sky is my world, and the sun is my father. All the heavens serve as our playground where we can fly and soar among the sun and stars.”

“So how did you fall in with Hamatsa?”

“Our weakness is curiosity. My people are safe as long as we stay in our world above the clouds. But on occasion someone of us is enticed to explore the wonders of the world below the clouds. Once that someone was me. And Hamatsa captured me. Once we are forced to descend to your world we take on the form of your people.”

“How does Hamatsa prevent you from simply flying back into the sky?”

“Once we cease being Dluwulaxa, we are no longer able to return to our original form.”

“What is it that makes you special to Hamatsa? Special enough to make you his slave? Are you his sex slave?”

“Hamatsa has no use for sex. He eats people. He doesn’t sleep with them.”

“So what makes you special to Hamatsa?” I asked again.

“I am what you call a shapeshifter. I can take many forms. People. Animals. Objects. I do Hamatsa’s bidding. I procure the bodies he needs to feed on. I root out his enemies and destroy them.” She raised her hand again and watched her fingers transform back into a steel blade.

A revelation struck me as if a light bulb turned on in my head. “You were a bird!” I exclaimed. “You’re a Tara.”

“Bird, yes. Tara, no.”

“Maybe you’re not a Tara. But you know where the tlogwe is. What I don’t understand is, why you need me if you already know where it is?”

“I need you to find the tlogwe. Only those deemed worthy by the tlogwala are able to receive the gift of the tlogwe.”

“You’re talking in riddles again. I’m guessing Hamatsa is preventing you from revealing the location of the tlogwe. . . Or. . . “ Kinqalatlala’s piercing black eyes drilled into my brain. “Hamatsa is the tlogwala.”

∆∆∆

You’re going to need more than that stick to take on the demons,” Charlie told Michael, “if you’re going back underground into the spirit world.”

“This is a magic harpoon,” Michael replied. It kills anything it’s pointed at. Anything smaller than a pterodactyl anyway.”

“Just in case, I brought in some hardware from home. I was a Boy Scout a hundred years ago, and I still believe in the Boy Scout motto, ‘Be Prepared’.” Charlie walked into his storeroom and returned with another 45 Smith and Wesson, and a double barreled pump action shotgun. Charlie gave the weapons to Jean and she buckled the gun belt around her waist, and slung the shotgun over her shoulder. “And here’s an electric torch and a bag of extra clips and shotgun shells. That’s a 12 gauge. A double barrel of that will stop Sasquatch. But be careful when you fire it. It kicks like a bucking brahma bull.”

“I’ve fired many a shotgun in my life,” Jean replied. “I know my way around shotguns.”

“You do?” Michael responded.

Charlie looked over the Taras. “I’m guessing you ladies do just fine with the weapons you have. Anything else I can get you before you go?”

“Got any beer?” Blue Tara asked.

“Beer? Why no. But tell you what, honey. You bring your friend back in one piece and I’ll buy you a case of Stella Artois.”

“Is that a beer?” Blue Tara asked.

“Best there is.” Charlie pried open the trap door to the secret basement and dropped the ladder into the darkness. With the light from her glowing blue skin to illuminate the way, Blue Tara climbed down the ladder first, followed by Jean, Michael, with Margarita riding his shoulder, and Red Tara. “Godspeed,” Charlie said as he dropped the trap door closed.

Following the trail of the original expedition proved easier than expected, because they could simply follow the footprints in the dirt and mud. Then they discovered extra sets of footprints converging on the original prints. Large footprints.

“Everyone be alert,” Blue Tara commanded. “We had company we were not aware of,” she added.

When they retraced their steps into the basement with the dead laxsa, they found the body of the laxsa, still dead, but sitting back in the chair with its head reattached. "Another warning," Blue Tara said. Blue Tara grabbed her battle axe and with one swipe removed it once again.

Coming out into the streetscape from the basements, Michael stopped and slowly scanned the storefronts along the street. “What?” Jean asked.

“Do you hear that?” Michael replied.

“Hear what?”

“The piano playing.”

“Oh God. Not you too?”

“Not me too, what?”

“Too many John Wayne movies. Next thing you know you’ll be in the middle of a shootout at the OK Corral.”

“That was Burt Lancaster. Not John Wayne. And what do you call that?” Michael responded, pointing down the street.”

Six creatures stood at the end of the block, shoulder to shoulder, clubs in their hands, blocking the street.

"What are they?" Jean asked.

“Dzonoqwa,” Michael said. “Beings of immense physical power.”

Gigantic, the creatures stood easily seven feet tall. Skin hidden under thick mats of greasy black hair that shined like fur. Menacing claws could be seen on the hands holding the clubs.

“Sasquatch,” Jean said, pulling the shotgun off her shoulder. “My brothers and I saw one once years ago when I was a kid. We were hunting varmints in the wilderness east of Rainier. We never told anyone.”

Part Three

The six Dzonoqwa raised their clubs over their heads and charged, screaming wildly. Jean bent down on one knee, aimed and fired both barrels of her shotgun. The recoil knocked her back on her butt. The heads of two creatures in the middle of the line disappeared and their bodies tumbled backwards. Red Tara nocked an arrow in her bow and aimed at one of the flanking creatures. The arrow pierced its skull squarely between its eyes. The creature stumbled forward and sprawled dead on the cobblestones. Michael aimed the magic harpoon first at one charging Dzonoqwa. Then another. They collapsed. Blue Tara stepped forward with her battle axe raised over her head as the last Dzonoqwa halted about ten feet away from her. Grunting incomprehensibly, the creature waved its club wildly while twisting and turning its head. When it realized its companions were dead the creature dropped the tip of its club to the cobblestones.

“We mean you no harm,” Michael said, holding his magic harpoon at the ready.

“The fuck we don’t,” Jean retorted, pointing her shotgun at the Dzonoqwa’s head.

“Do you understand anything we say?” Michael asked. “Who sent you?” 

Looking back at its fallen companions sprawled out across the cobblestones, the Dzonoqwa screamed and raised its club. Before it could take a step forward, Blue Tara swung her battle axe and separated the creature’s head from its body. The body tumbled to the cobblestones at Blue Tara’s feet, which turned red with blood.

“That was impressive,” Michael remarked. “Wonder what that was all about?”

“Hamatsa’s slaves are legion,” Blue Tara replied. “He knows we’re coming and he’s going to do everything he can to stop us.”

“Oh my!” Jean exclaimed. “Look!” she cried, pointing along the street. A skeleton. A living skeleton appeared out of a basement and slowly walked toward Jean and Michael and the Taras.

“Oh shit,” Michael said. “Bokwus again. Chief of the Dead.”

Bokwus stepped up to within a few feet of the group and stopped.

“What do you want?” Michael asked, holding the magic harpoon in front of him.

“I come for Blue Tara,” Bokwus replied. “My master has commanded me to take Blue Tara to him.”

“Fuck that,” Jean said as she raised her shotgun to Bokwus’ skull and pulled the trigger.

Another living skeleton appeared out of a basement door and stepped forward, but not quite so far as the first. “How many of them are there?” Jean asked in frustration.

“More than one, apparently,” Michael replied. “I don’t understand what Hamatsa is doing. They don’t seem to be armed. Or dangerous.”

“Their intent is simply to harass us,” Blue Tara replied. She stepped up to the living skeleton and with one swing of her battle axe lopped off its skull. “We must continue forward,” she said.

Yet another living skeleton appeared in a basement doorway. Michael pointed the magic harpoon at the creature, but the skeleton kept walking forward.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead with that thing, remember?” Jean said as she aimed her shotgun and pulled the trigger. Jean charged into the basement, kicking the bones out of the way. With her shotgun at her shoulder, she scanned the room, ready to fire. Michael and the Taras followed behind her. The room appeared to be completely empty.

Margarita trailed into the basement on Michael’s heels. She growled and spun into the air as another living skeleton burst into the room behind them. The black dervish flashed her claws of steel and separated the skeleton’s skull from its body.

“Bokwus is persistent, if nothing else,” Michael remarked.

“We are almost there,” Jean called out from the back of the room. She stood looking out another doorway. The Taras walked through the doorway as Michael followed behind.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, looking out onto a forested landscape, the realm of the dead. “How is this even possible?” He looked back at the empty basement, and stepped through the doorway. “It’s like we just stepped into another dimension,” he said.

“You are correct,” Blue Tara replied. “We have entered another time and space. Hopefully the same time and space your friend is lost in.”

“Now you’re starting to scare me,” Michael responded.

“You’re scared?” Jean replied. “You should have witnessed what we witnessed the first time here. Then you’d have reason to be scared.”

“We need to stay together,” Red Tara remarked.

“Kurukulla is correct,” Blue Tara replied. “We can protect each other. If you get separated,” she added, looking directly at Michael, “there is nothing we can do for you. You would be at Hamatsa’s mercy.”

“Hamatsa has no mercy,” Red Tara responded.

“Where do we go from here?” Michael asked.

“Looks like we just keep following the trail,” Jean replied, as she pointed into the trees.

“Oh shit!” Michael exclaimed. Another living skeleton stepped out of the forest. This one was not alone. An army of white phantoms appeared out of the trees behind it, stretching as far as could be seen in either direction. “The army of the dead. We’re fucked.”

The living skeleton, Bokwus, Chief of the Dead, stepped forward. “I come to take Blue Tara,” he commanded.

“What do you intend to do with Blue Tara?” Michael replied.

“My master has commanded me to bring Blue Tara to him.”

“What do we do now?” Jean asked.

“The army of the dead can’t be killed,” Michael replied.

“Well, we’re not giving up Blue Tara,” Jean responded, as she aimed her shotgun at Bokwus’ skull and pulled the trigger.

Another living skeleton emerged from the forest and stepped through the line of phantoms. “I come to take Blue Tara,” it repeated.

“Anybody have any ideas?” Michael pleaded. “This could go on for an eternity. Eventually we’re going to run out of ammo.”

“We ignore them,” Blue Tara replied.

“What?” Michael and Jean responded simultaneously.

“We ignore them,” Blue Tara repeated. The army of the dead can not be defeated. But we are not dead. The army of the dead has no influence among the living. As long as we stay alive the army of the dead can not harm us.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked dubiously.

“We continue forward,” Blue Tara replied. “We will find out soon enough if I am right.”

“If you are right? I’m not reassured,” Michael said. “What if you’re wrong?”

“We will know soon enough.” The Taras commenced walking forward. Blue Tara held her battle axe ready, and Red Tara her long bow. Michael and Jean quickly ran to catch up, with Margarita at their heels. They walked past Bokwus, who turned to watch them as they passed. They walked through the line of phantoms. Michael swept his hand through one of the apparitions. He felt a slight tingling, but figured it could just as well be a case of nerves as anything else. As they stepped into the forest they heard Bokwus repeat his refrain, “I come to take Blue Tara.”

∆∆∆

Kinqalatlala took my hand in hers. “We must leave,” she told me.

“That’s what I planned to do,” I replied, “Until you stopped me. I wish you’d just tell me where the tlogwe is. Where is Hamatsa? Is Hamatsa the tlogwala?”

“You do not understand. We must leave before they find us.”

“Before who finds us?”

“Your friends are on their way to rescue you. We must not allow that to happen.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Bull! Shit! I’m going to stay right here until they get here. I knew it!” I cried out. “I knew Jean and Blue Tara would come back for me.”

“You do not understand,” Kinqalatlala repeated. “They can not help you. They do not possess the Water of Life. If they take your body back to their world, all hope is lost.”

“You mean if they take me back to my world. And how do you know they are coming. You haven’t left my sight. Are you telepathic or something?”

“This is your world now,” Kinqalatlala replied. “Their world is no longer your world. You are dead to them. You are dead to your world. You are dead. You must continue the search for the tlogwe. If they find you they will only find your dead body.”

“Tell me where to go, for god sakes,” I replied, exasperated.

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you.” Kinqalatlala whistled, and looked into the sky. Soon I could hear the flapping of enormous wings. Wings pounding the air like pile drivers. Two great winged creatures appeared overhead. Gagits. The pterodactyls. They circled over the trees and glided to a landing in the clearing in front of the longhouse.

With their huge scale covered feet and giant claws they awkwardly stepped up to me and Kinqalatlala, dropping their heads to the ground. Their breath, the putrid stench of death, caused me to take a couple of steps back.

“Mount their necks,” Kinqalatlala commanded. “We will ride them into the sky.” She straddled the neck of one of the gagits, taking clumps of long greasy hair in her hands for reins.

“Do as I do,” she said. Holding my breath, I gingerly climbed onto the neck of the second gagit. “Hold onto their hair,” she commanded.

Turning and taking several halting steps, the creatures flapped their wings and leaped into the air, climbing and banking to the south. I could see Mount Rainier towering on the horizon before me.

“Where are we going?” I yelled at Kinqalatlala over the noise of the flapping wings.

“We are going to the city of the Dluwulaxa. To my world above the clouds. You have much to learn about me.”

“I think I know just about everything I want to know about you,” I replied.

“You need to understand why we should be allies and not enemies,” she said. Like that would ever happen, I thought to myself. I peered over the gagit’s neck and watched the landscape pass rapidly below me. The pterodactyl proved to be much better at flying than I expected. The slow steady flapping of the immense wings made for a smooth ride on the gagit’s neck. Furthermore, the heat radiating from the creature’s body kept me pleasantly warm even at altitude. We were riding well above tree top level, and climbing steadily. Mount Rainier loomed ever larger before us in its glacier capped glory. A massive lenticular cloud obscured Rainier’s peak. The gagits flew directly for the cloud.

The gagits flew a lazy circle around the summit and to my total amazement landed on top of the lenticular cloud shrouding Rainier’s peak. A translucent sheet of crystal at our feet extended in every direction as far as I could see in the cloud. Wisps of cloud drifted over us, giving the scene an eerily surreal aspect. Kinqalatlala jumped off the gagit and took my hand, helping me dismount. “Come with me,” she said, as the pterodactyls flapped their wings and took flight, disappearing into the clouds.

Seemingly appearing out of thin air, a building loomed before us. Translucent crystal walls shimmered white in the blazing sunlight above the clouds. Kinqalatlala led me to the door. I stood mystified in front of the structure. I ran my hand over the cool crystal surface. “The furies,” I said. “Crystal made the furies fly.”

“Come with me,” Kinqalatlala replied. We entered the building. Stepping inside I stopped, stunned. A vast expanse of nothingness opened up before me. As far as I could see. Nothing but sky and clouds. Innumerable birds cavorted through the sky and landed on clouds to rest. Large birds. Small birds. Black birds. Red birds. Blue birds. Green birds. Brown birds. Brightly rainbow colored birds. Flying. Circling. Soaring. Gliding with the wind. Birds stood on the translucent floor preening themselves.

“”Dluwulaxa,” Kinqalatlala said. “Welcome to my world.”

“This is incredible,” I replied, stunned. “This is your home?”

“Yes. These are Dluwulaxa. These are my people.”

“Can they see us? Talk to us””

“Unfortunately, no. Remember, you are not of the living. They do not see us.”

“And there is no way for you to revert back to your original form?”

“There may be one way,” she replied.

“What is that?”

“The one with the tlogwe may possess the magic to make that possible.”

“So that’s why you want me to find the tlogwe. To help you become Dluwulaxa again.”

“And I can help you,” Kinqalatlala replied. I gave her a blank stare. “I can give you the freedom of the sky. If you find the tlogwe and restore me to my world, you would possess the magic to join me in my world.”

“By becoming a bird?”

“By becoming anything you wanted to be. You would possess that magic. You could make a home here in the world of the Dluwulaxa with me. A home free from strife. Free from conflict. Free from want. Free from jealousy. Free from pain. Free from Hamatsa.”

“Shangri-La,” I responded. “But at what cost? By becoming your slave?”

“By becoming my partner.” She placed her arms over my shoulders and pulled me to her, her breasts in my chest. She kissed me. “Every dream. Every fantasy you have could be realized. I could show you a life of perfect freedom.”

“And give up my world to be ground down by Hamatsa and the Winalagalis?” I pushed her away from me. “Lady, I have a life. I want to get back to it.” I turned and walked through the door back onto the cloud.

End of Chapter Four

Book Two of The Princess Tara Chronicles: The Princess Witch, Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Part One

“So Class,” Michael said to his Introduction to U.S. History 101 class, as he fixed his eyes on the clock at the back of the room, desperately trying to will the clock to count down to the end of the period. “Did Abraham Lincoln fight the Civil War to abolish slavery? Or to preserve the Union?”

“Professor?” a female student in the front row asked, one of only two students sitting in the front row. Michael long ago discovered a direct correlation between grades and the seating chart. Well, at least he had two students actually interested in U.S. history.

Michael glanced at his seating chart. “Yes Mandy?”

“We covered this material last week,” she said.

“We did?” Michael flipped through his lecture notes, trying to remember his last lecture to the class.

“We were supposed to read the chapter on Reconstruction for today’s class,” the student added.

“Oh yes. So sorry,” Michael replied. “Don’t know what I was thinking.” Several students in the back snickered. Michael knew perfectly well what he was thinking. Red Tara sat perched on the window sill of the history lecture hall window on the second floor of Denny Hall, open thanks to another gorgeous Seattle spring day. The students saw a strikingly colored red and green macaw parrot, with a pure white face scored with zebra stripes of tiny black feathers. Michael saw a stunning six foot tall red skinned Amazon goddess with four arms and a long bow slung over her shoulder. A red skinned Amazon goddess only partially clothed. In Michael’s defense, any red-blooded male history professor in similar straits would have difficulty concentrating on his lecture notes.

“Reconstruction. Oh yes. Reconstruction. . .” Michael glanced at the clock before his eyes strayed back to Red Tara. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead. Michael became a minor celebrity at the U Dub when Red Tara started flying around the campus following Michael between his office and his classes. Some days even Margarita scampered along as well. Students became to call Michael the pied piper of the U Dub, or Doctor Dolittle behind his back. Michael did notice that women students began to smile at him more often, and even stop him for conversation as they passed on campus. Red Tara would perch on top of campus buildings like a gargoyle and wait for Michael to finish his lectures, or like on this day, sit on an open window sill.

“It’s started!” a male student at the back of the hall shouted, jumping to his feet.

“Reconstruction?” Michael responded, confused. “Wait. What’s started?” he asked as students scrambled to their feet.

“Deportation Police are moving into the city. In force,” the student said, holding up his tablet. Local news video on the screen showed masses of black clad Deportation Police goons surrounding Seattle Police Department headquarters downtown. “The regime nationalized the city police!” the student cried out. Anyone still sitting jumped out of their seats and surrounded the student with the tablet, trying to get a glimpse of the news broadcast on the slab.

Red Tara squawked, flapped her wings, jumped out the window and disappeared into the sky.

“Reconstruction. . .” Michael whispered, and closed his lecture book.

“They’re rounding up the city police and detaining any cops that refuse to change their blue uniforms for black jumpsuits. They’ve occupied City Hall. The mayor is in hiding and calling on the city to resist this federal incursion,” the student continued, attempting to explain the developing situation as students yelled questions at him.

“Class dismissed,” Michael softly said, not sure if the bell rang to end the class. It was clear his students no longer cared about Abraham Lincoln or Reconstruction. He thought to say something about the next class assignment, but realized no one was listening to him. The room became a cacophony of incoherent shouts and questions yelled at the man with the tablet, while the man with the tablet tried to concentrate on following the news broadcast. Shouting and the sound of running feet in the hallway outside the classroom door competed for attention with the shouting inside the classroom. Michael gathered his lecture materials and dashed out the door. He wanted to get back to his office so he could call Charlie at the bird store to get an update on the underground Seattle expedition.

Michael ran out of Denny Hall and smack into a line of black clad Deportation Police holding nasty looking machine guns, almost dropping his books and lecture notes. An officer armed with a side arm and a magic harpoon stepped forward to confront Michael. Tall. Sallow face and skin. Long stringy black hair. Sunken black eyes. A laxsa. “Papers!” he ordered. Michael held out his lecture notes.

With a swipe of the magic harpoon the laxsa knocked Michael’s lecture notes and books out of his hands, scattering them across the lawn. “Does this look like a circus to you? the officer asked Michael. Michael shook his head. “Then why are you treating this like a joke?”

“You asked for my papers,” Michael replied. “Those were my papers from the class I teach.”

The goon swung the magic harpoon and clocked Michael across the side of his head. Michael screamed in pain as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

“Show me your campus identification!” the goon yelled at him. Michael struggled to his feet, the side of his face covered with blood. He jammed his hands into his pockets, searching for his wallet.

“I must have left my ID in my office,” Michael tried to explain. He froze in terror as the goon lowered the magic harpoon.

The harpoon fell to the ground. It dawned on Michael that an arrow stuck out of the goon’s forehead. The goon toppled over backwards, a stream of blood running down his nose.

One of the other Deportation Police goons raised his machine gun. With a thud, another arrow pierced his skull and the point stuck out the back of his head. The goon spun to the ground, firing off a burst from his machine gun as he fell. The burst of bullets cut down three Deportation Police goons standing next to him.

Michael grabbed the magic harpoon and pointed it at the remaining cops. Several collapsed to the ground, dead. The last two goons standing turned to run. One stumbled face first onto the sidewalk with an arrow sticking out of the back of his head. Michael realized that Red Tara stood next to him, bow in hand as she nocked another arrow into place. The last goon spun backwards onto his back when a black dervish with steel claws bounded out from the corner of Denny Hall and slashed his throat, separating his head from his shoulders. The goon’s head rolled down the sidewalk to stop at Michael’s feet. Back arched, fur standing on end, Margarita walked up to Michael and rubbed her head on his leg. Students gathered around the battlefield and stared at the bodies in stunned silence.

∆∆∆

Michael stood frozen in shock. Holding her long bow at the ready, Red Tara grabbed Michael’s arm with one of her extra hands and shook him to break him out of his stupor. “Snap out of it!” she ordered. “Take the magic stick. This would be a good time for us to leave.”

Michael mumbled something about his books and lecture notes strewn across the lawn.

“Never mind that!” Red Tara insisted. “We have more important matters at hand.”

Holding Michael’s arm she dragged him down the sidewalk away from Denny Hall. Heading back toward Michael’s office, a line of Deportation Police strung across Red Square blocked their unfettered retreat to the Suzzallo Library. The espresso cart lay broken and smashed by the steps to the library and the bullet riddled body of the barista lay in a pool of blood on the red brick.

“Ah, fuck!” Michael exclaimed. Running his fingers through the blood on his face, he drew red lines of blood across his forehead and chin. Screaming his best impersonation of a war cry recalled from any number of old John Wayne movies, he lowered the magic harpoon at the goons and charged. Three goons to his left toppled to the red brick, dead. He turned to face two goons to his right, but as he pointed the harpoon an arrow pierced one goon’s head and planted itself in another’s skull. They fell to the pavement dead. The black steel-clawed dervish Black Tara separated the heads from their bodies of the last two goons standing.

“Run!” Red Tara commanded, and they sprinted around the library to the door leading to the subbasement and to Michael’s office.

Michael slammed his office door shut and bolted the lock, then pushed a file cabinet against the door.

“How long can we hold out?” Michael asked. “What if they decide to come after us?”

“We are safe here in this space,” Red Tara replied. “No extra precautions are necessary.”

“How is that?” Michael asked.

“We exist in a different dimension here in this space. The ghouls could break down your door and enter this place, yet they would not be able to see us.”

“Why can’t we exist in a different dimension in the real world? A different dimension without Deportation Police and cannibals and witches?”

“That kind of power does not exist. This is the real world. Unfortunately the real world is more complex than you might like.”

“Why didn’t I take that tenure track offer at Beuhler College?” Michael asked, just for the sake of asking.

“What is a Beuhler College?”

“A little Baptist College down in Southern California. They offered me a tenure track appointment for chrissakes.”

“That was not meant to be,” Red Tara replied.

“At least we have a magic harpoon again. That was some nifty work with that bow,” Michael said. “How did you ever learn to be so good with a bow and arrow?”

“There is nothing to learn.” Red Tara gave Michael a puzzled look. “Firing a bow comes as easy to me as seducing a man. That is what I am.”

With one hand she took the bow off her shoulder and placed it next to the door. Another hand swept books and papers off Michael’s desk. A third hand took hold of Michael’s belt and pulled him to her. She lay back onto the top of the desk. Her fourth hand pulled Michael down on top of her. She kissed him. Her tongue slid into his mouth. Then all four hands removed Michael’s clothing. Michael’s hands found Red Tara’s breasts. Margarita curled up on her sleeping mat next to the desk and hissed.

∆∆∆

Hamatsa and Kinqalatlala stood in the Department of Homeland Security’s fortified control room on Level C of the basement of the Henry M. Jackson Federal Building in downtown Seattle, replaying security video from the U Dub, watching Michael and Red Tara take out a platoon of his Deportation Police on Red Square.

“Two of the Taras have answered Blue Tara’s call,” Kinqalatlala said.

“I have a large number of laxsa at my service,” Hamatsa replied, clearly unhappy with what he watched. “But their numbers are not inexhaustible. This is not our only fight. We are stretched thin by the resistance. It is imperative that the Taras be stopped. Whatever the cost.”

“Yes master,” Kinqalatlala replied.

“If more Taras join the resistance our position here will become precarious. We have control of the city police, and once we capture the mayor we will control the city government. We need to secure the campus and root the Taras out of their hiding places. I’m putting you in charge of this operation,” Hamatsa told Kinqalatlala. “Use whatever force is necessary. Start blowing up buildings if that’s what it takes!” Hamatsa yelled at his lieutenant. “I want the man with the parrot brought to me in chains! Is that clear?”

“Yes master.”

“Why are you still standing here?”

Kinqalatlala saluted, turned, and ran out the door.

∆∆∆

When Michael regained consciousness he found himself sitting naked in his office chair. Red Tara stood on one leg in front of him, smiling. Her right foot rested against her left knee. She stood completely naked. Michael stared at her brilliant red body, then jumped out of his chair and threw his clothes on as quickly as he could.

“Shouldn’t you get dressed? Or something?” he asked, his face flushed. Not moving, Red Tara continued to smile at him.

Michael panicked, recalling the events of the afternoon. “What time is it?” he wondered aloud. “Oh God! I need to call Charlie. Find out what’s going on.”

Michael picked up his desk phone off the floor. The line was dead. He slammed the receiver down and fumbled for his cell phone in his jacket pocket. A big red ball where the signal strength bars should be. No cell phone service. He flipped his computer on. No internet service. “Well, that’s just great!” he exclaimed. “What do we do now?

“We wait,” Red Tara replied. “Things will happen when they are meant to happen. Our numbers are too small. We can not take on the forces of the Winalagalis just by ourselves. We need help from the other Taras.”

“So we just sit here?” Michael replied.

“We are safe here. We wait for Blue Tara and your friends. We wait for the other Taras.”

“I’m not good at just sitting and waiting.”

“Neither am I,” Red Tara said. She stepped up to Michael and put two arms over his shoulders. She pulled him to her, sticking her breasts in his chest. She licked his face and his lips. One of her other two hands undid his belt while another slid into his pants. Michael felt his body tense.

“Just relax,” Red Tara said. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I’m trying to relax,” Michael tried to reply, as Red Tara’s tongue slipped between his lips and found his tongue. His body tingled as if from an electric shock wherever Red Tara’s body touched his. He lost all sense of touch and feel. He felt his body melting into Red Tara’s body. Finally he lost consciousness.

Part Two

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jean pull the 45 Smith and Wesson out of her holster. She pointed the pistol at Hamatsa and pulled the trigger. “Go to Hell!” Jean screamed. A huge red hole appeared in the center of his forehead before I heard the gunshot. The impact flung him backwards against the wall of the longhouse, where he crumpled to the ground.

The shaman appeared out of the darkness of the longhouse holding a magic harpoon and pointed it at Jean. I screamed, “Watch out!” I threw myself at Jean to try to knock her out of the way of the death stick. I was too late. Jean dropped her pistol as she collapsed to the ground. I screamed again as I grabbed the pistol off the ground and swung around to fire at the shaman. The bullet struck his chest and knocked him back onto the ground, the magic harpoon flying out of his hands and bouncing off the wall.

Surrounded by the grizzly bear dancers and the men with the lances, Kinqalatlala walked up to me. I pointed the pistol at her chest. She put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me to her until the nozzle of the 45 pressed against her naked skin.

“Pull the trigger,” she told me calmly. I couldn’t speak. Her penetrating black eyes hypnotized me. “Pull the trigger,” she repeated. “Know the power of death.” I felt my will succumbing to hers. My finger tightened on the trigger.

“Do not shoot her!” I had completely forgotten Blue Tara during the melee. “Do not act impulsively,” she commanded. “Do as I say.”

“Shoot me,” Kinqalatlala said. “To gain power in the realm of the dead you must know death. Shoot me.”

“No!” Blue Tara demanded. “She is not the one to die.”

“Then who is?” I asked. The pistol wavered in my hand. “They killed Jean!” I screamed. Tears poured down my cheeks as I waved the pistol at Kinqalatlala’s head. “What am I supposed to do?” I cried.

Blue Tara stepped to my side. “You must enter the realm of the spirits to search for the tlogwe, the ultimate treasure the spirits have to give to those brave enough to enter their realm.”

“But how do I do that?” I pleaded. I stuck the nozzle of the pistol against Kinqalatlala’s temple. “Do I take her life?”

“No!” Blue Tara insisted. “To enter the realm of the spirits you must know death.” She placed her hand on my back. “You must die.” I stared at Blue Tara, incredulous.

“Then die it shall be,” Kinqalatlala said. She raised her hand to her face and watched her fingers turn into a narrow blade of steel. I tried to pull the trigger of the pistol, but my muscles froze in fear. Kinqalatlala thrust the steel blade that was her hand into my chest. Excruciating pain overwhelmed my senses. I could feel blood pouring down my legs. My blood. It seemed to me that Kinqalatlala put her arm around my neck and pulled me to her. Her lips touched my lips and her tongue touched my tongue. I had no sensation of touch or feel. My legs gave out and I blacked out before I hit the ground. Before I completely lost consciousness I thought I heard Blue Tara screech.

∆∆∆

Jean beat on the bottom of the trap door to Charlie’s basement with a stick for about ten minutes before Charlie finally pulled the door open, and helped Jean and Blue Tara up the ladder. Dirt and mud coated Jean’s tattered clothing and caked Blue Tara.

“What happened. Where’s your friend? Where’s my 45?” Charlie asked, staring at the empty holster on Jean’s hip.

“He’s dead!” Jean blurted out.

“What?” Charlie asked, stunned. “My God, woman. What happened?”

“Kinqalatlala stabbed him with her hand. She killed him!”

“You’re kidding? With her hand?”

“She stuck her hand through his chest. I saw it. Her hand turned into a steel blade.”

“Where is your friend. . . Where is the body?” Charlie asked hesitantly.

“We found the old Indian village. Hamatsa burned Kinqalatlala to death. Then brought her back to life. To demonstrate his powers. I shot Hamatsa.”

“Good Lord, woman. This sounds like you were in the middle of an Indian war. So where is your friend. . . friend’s body?”

“He’s still in the village. His body is still in the village. I was almost killed by a magic harpoon, but he pushed me out of the way at the last moment and saved my life. I thought we were all dead.”

“What village?” Charlie asked. “Where is this village you’re talking about?”

“The old Indian village under the city,” Jean replied.

“There’s an old Indian village under the city?” Charlie looked incredulous.

“It really exists. It’s not just ruins. We were there. I saw it.”

“The village of the ancients exists in a different time and space,” Blue Tara said. “We traveled through time and space to get there, and I bent time and space to get us back to you.”

“Why didn’t you bring your friend back with you?” Charlie asked. “His body anyway?” Charlie stared at Blue Tara’s naked mud caked body. “You sure you don’t want a towel or robe or something to wear?” Blue Tara shook her head.

“I could not bring your friend back with us. His path lies with the spirit realm. He must search for the tlogwe, the gift of ultimate power. That is our only hope to overcome the Winalagalis.”

“So he’s not dead?” Jean asked, grabbing Blue Tara’s arm.

“Yes, your friend is dead. He has entered the spirit world. He must complete his quest for the tlogwe.”

“Why didn’t you bring him back?” Charlie asked.

“If I had brought him back with us all would be lost. We would have no hope of defeating the forces of the Winalagalis, the forces of evil.”

“You let him die!” Jean screamed, pounding her fists on Blue Tara’s chest. “You could have save him!” Charlie grabbed Jean’s shoulders and pulled her back. She threw her arms around Charlie and buried her face in his chest, sobbing. “She wanted him to die,” she blurted out.

“I had no choice,” Blue Tara replied. “We had no choice. It was necessary for your friend to die so he could commence his quest for the tlogwe.”

“You could have saved him! We need to go back,” Jean cried to Charlie. “We need to save him!”

“We will, young lady. We will,” Charlie replied. “But first we need to get you cleaned up and we need to hook you up with that fellow who teaches at the U Dub. We need to figure out how we’re going to save your friend. A whole lot of shit has come down here in town since you left on your little expedition.”

“What’s going on?” Jean asked.

“The Deportation Police are trying to take over the city. They’ve nationalized the city police and tried to arrest the mayor. He’s in hiding, trying to organize a resistance.”

“Oh no!” Can we call Michael at the U Dub?”

“Phones are down. No cell phone service. Even the Internet’s down.”

“We will return,” Blue Tara told Charlie, and then she screeched. When Jean opened her eyes she found herself on the floor of Michael’s office with her hands protecting her ears, staring at the face of Michael’s cat, Black Tara, Margarita, who walked up to Jean and licked her face.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” Michael exclaimed, as he helped Jean to her feet. “You wouldn’t believe what’s happened. Say, where’s your boyfriend?” Michael looked up and down Jean’s tattered and soiled clothing. “Jesus H. Christ!. You look like shit.”

∆∆∆

This seemed an unusual way to be dead. When I opened my eyes I found myself sprawled out on a cedar bark mat outside the longhouse. The longhouse sat just below the tree line above the mud flats at the mouth of the Duwamish River, where the river emptied into Elliott Bay. I could hear the surf lapping against the rocks on the beach. Wisps of fog rolling off the bay flowed up to the longhouse and seemed to bring the double headed serpent painted on the front wall to life, as if it were blowing smoke out its nostrils. Up the river to the south Mt. Rainier glowed red in the light of the rising sun. With no pollution in the sky it seemed I could reach out and touch the snow-capped volcano, even though I knew the mountain stood thirty miles away. Seattleites call Mt. Rainier ‘the mountain’, even though any number of other mountains can be seen from the city.

Kinqalatlala stepped up to me and the shadow of her tall, dark, svelte, naked body fell over my face. I struggled to try to get to my feet, but my muscles refused to respond to my brain. I realized if I was already dead she couldn’t kill me again. She reached down and took my hands and pulled me to my feet. I was relieved to see normal hands and not steel blades. I tore my shirt open and gingerly felt my chest. I expected to see a hole where Kinqalatlala had stabbed me. I found nothing. Not even a scratch mark.

“Am I dead?” I asked her.

“Yes, you are dead,” she replied.

“Then are you dead?” I asked, confused.

“Death is a relative state of existence,” she replied. I didn’t have a clue what that meant.

“What the hell does that mean?” I responded.

“Hell has nothing to do with this state of existence. Hell is a possible destination, if you are not careful. You have begun your journey into the spirit world. I know that Blue Tara sent you on a quest. A quest for the tlogwe.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

Kinqalatlala stepped up to me and put her arms over my shoulders. Her dark naked skin smelled of cedar smoke. She ran a hand through my hair and traced the outline of my lips with the forefinger of her other hand. She pulled me to her, her breasts sticking in my chest.

“Don’t spirits ever wear clothes?” I asked.

“I am not of the spirit world.”

“What are you?”

“I am your heart’s desire,” she said, placing her hand on my chest. “I am your guide for your journey through the spirit world.”

“You killed me,” I replied. “And now you want to help me? You are a slave to Hamatsa.”

“It was necessary for you to die, so you could begin your journey. Why do you think that witch Blue Tara failed to save you?”

“What? Blue Tara failed to save me? What do you mean?”

“She let you die. She allowed me to kill you. She wished me to kill you.”

Kinqalatlala’s tongue traced my lips. She forced her tongue between my lips and pushed it against my tongue. I grabbed her arms and pushed her back away for me. I ran to the longhouse and looked inside.

“Where are Jean and Blue Tara? Are they dead?”

“Your friends reside in the world outside this one. They abandoned you to me.”

“No they didn’t! If they left Blue Tara had a reason. Why are you here? If you killed me already, you can’t kill me again. Can you?”

“As I said, I am your guide through the spirit world. I can help you. Or I can stop you. I can pleasure you.” She took my hands in hers.

“Why do I need your help? And why would you help me? Is Hamatsa trying to trick me to confuse and mislead me?”

“It is true I am Hamatsa’s slave in the world outside this one. But his powers are not unlimited. And I do not intend to remain his slave forever. By helping you, you can help me break free of his domination.”

You killed me!” I exclaimed. “And you want me to help you?”

“Killing you was necessary,” she replied. “Killing you was what Blue Tara wanted.”

“What? Bullshit!” I yelled. “You’re lying to me!”

“Your only hope for finding the tlogwe is here in the realm of the spirit world.”

“You want the tlogwe for yourself. You and Hamatsa!”

“The tlogwe can only be bestowed on the one the Tlogwala deems worthy enough to receive it.”

“The Tlogwala? What is that?”

“Not what. The Tlogwala is the one who holds the secrets to the tlogwe. Blue Tara knew that I could assist you to find your way to the Tlogwala. That is why she didn’t prevent me from killing you.”

“So you and Blue Tara are working together? Are you a Tara?”

“We are working to the same end.”

“Which is?”

“To unleash the power of the tlogwe. To stop the Winalagalis.

“You’re a double agent!”

“I do not understand those words,” Kinqalatlala replied. “I am working to break the hold that Hamatsa has over me. And I am willing to help you break the hold that Hamatsa has over you.”

“If I am dead, what kind of hold can he possibly have over me?”

“The Water of Life.”

“Are you one of the Taras?” I asked again.

“I am not one of the Taras.”

“But you are a witch.”

“I have special abilities and special magic. If that makes me a witch, then I am a witch.”

“I don’t understand. You’re not one of the Taras, but you want to help Blue Tara? By killing me. By killing Jean.”

“I did not kill your friend.”

“I saw her die by the magic harpoon.”

“That was not my doing.”

“Where is she? Where is Blue Tara?”

“I have already told you that they are not in this realm of the spirit world.”

“Is Jean not dead?” I asked, begging for the answer I wanted to hear.

“I can not tell you what I do not know.”

“She is alive?”

“We must begin our journey.”

I felt euphoric. If Blue Tara did her time and space bend trick to get them out of harm’s way, I knew it would be only a matter of time before they came back to rescue me, with the help of the other Taras. And I knew that with Blue Tara time was relative and fluid.

“How do I know you and Hamatsa aren’t setting me up? That you aren’t trying to trick me?”

“You don’t’ know. It is in your best interest to trust me and let me help you. I have already explained my situation. And what I can do for you. And what I expect you to do for me.”

Kinqalatlala put one hand on the back of my head and pulled me to her, kissing me. She ripped my shirt open with her other hand and slid the hand into my pants. My hands found her breasts and I kissed her back. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I couldn’t help myself. I was bewitched. Chalk this up to research, I told myself.

Part Three

“I don’t understand how we’re supposed to fight ghouls like Hamatsa and Kinqalatlala that can exist in two realities at the same time,” Michael said. “You saw them in the ancient village. Yet we’ve seen them in this world.”

“I shot Hamatsa,” Jean replied. “I practically blew the top of his head off with Charlie’s 45. He must be dead.”

“Hamatsa’s powers are great,” Blue Tara said. “With the Water of Life he can give life to the dead. With such power the boundary between life and death is fluid. He has mastered the magic to travel between the spirit world and the world of men,” Blue Tara said.

“And the world of women,” Jean added.

“I don’t know about anyone else,” Blue Tara added, “but I am starved.” She screeched to bend time and space. Jean and Michael found themselves rolling on the floor of the Ballard apartment in the St. Charles Hotel with their hands pressed against their ears. Margarita growled at Aboo, the blue and gold macaw, Lord Garuda, who sat perched on Princess Tara’s stand.

“You need to buy us pizza,” Blue Tara told Michael, as she walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Yes, beer.” She reached in and grabbed a can of Rainier.

“While you’re getting the pizza I’m going to jump in the shower and see if I can find some clean clothes to wear,” Jean said.

“Maybe we shower together?” Blue Tara suggested.

“Maybe you drink your beer. I’ll take a shower. You can shower after I’m done if you want. On second thought, I’ll take a beer into the shower with me," Jean added.

Over pizza and beer and wine Jean filled Michael in on the events at the longhouse.

“You were standing at the original site of Seattle long before Seattle as ever established,” Michael said. “How is that possible? You say you were working your way underground through the ruins of old Seattle, and suddenly find yourselves in another time?”

“Your concepts of time and space are too rigid,” Blue Tara replied. “Time is not linear in my world.”

“You bent time and space to get back to Charlie’s, right?”

“Yes, that is right.”

“So once we work up a rescue plan you can bend us through time and space back to that place? Save us the hassle of going through all the tunnels and basements.”

“Unfortunately, I can not,” Blue Tara replied.

“But why not?”

“It is because time is fluid, that I can not know precisely what point in time we might arrive at. I could be a thousand of your years off, and we could be lost in time and space.”

Michael glanced at Blue Tara. “I’m a big science fiction fan, you know.”

“We will need to go through the tunnels below the city again, as we did before, and retrace our route to the ancient village.”

“But if he’s dead, what can we do? Without the Water of Life I mean. Will we even be able to see him? Or will he just be a ghost?”

“I do not know the answers to your questions. We must search for the tlogwe. We may find your friend and possibly the answers to your questions. Kurukulla will come with us,” Blue Tara said, nodding at Red Tara. “Aboo will remain here to await the other Taras.”

“Margarita will come with us too,” Michael added, as the cat chewed a slice of pizza underneath the dining table. “We may need a good mouser.”

∆∆∆

Hamatsa, his long stringy black hair tucked under a black leather fedora and his scalloped yellow skin hidden under a black leather frock coat, and Kinqalatlala, her dark-skinned svelte athletic body accentuated by skin tight leather pants and a coat, stood on the sidewalk on old Ballard Avenue across the street from the St. Charles Hotel, looking up at the lighted bay window in the northwest corner on the upper floor.

“You explained your situation to the man with the parrot?” Hamatsa asked Kinqalatlala.

“Yes master,” she replied. “I explained how I wanted his help to break free of your hold on me.”

“And he believed you?”

“I am very convincing, master. He is weak. Men are weak.” She glanced up at Hamatsa’s fiery red eyes burning under the black leather fedora. “Men of this world are weak,” she clarified.

“Once he leads you to the tlogwe you can dispose of him once and for all. Just remember. I want to see his head mounted on the wall at Control. Is that clear?”

“Yes master.”

“Do you believe he will lead the Taras into the trap we have set for them?”

“I believe he will do whatever I want him to do,” Kinqalatlala replied.

“How can you be so certain?”

“All I need to do is show him these,” Kinqalatlala replied, pulling her coat open to show she wore nothing underneath.

“Then we will proceed with our plans. Once we eliminate the Taras, and once we eliminate those fools who fall under their spell, we will establish a seat of power here in Seattle. A seat of power to rival that of the Winalagalis himself.”

“Yes my master.”

“It is time to summon Bokwus and the Gagit.”

“Bokwus? The chief of the dead?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

“The Gagit I understand. Because of Lord Garuda’s power, the furies can not challenge the Taras. And although he can fly, the Gagit is not a furie. But Bokwus desires to build his own empire of the dead. Is it wise to unleash his power?”

“I will deal with Bokwus at a time and place of my choosing. But for now he is useful to me. His army of the dead can not be killed. The Taras can not fight ghosts. I will use his power to wipe out the Taras once and for all, and then I will turn his power against the Winalagalis. What happens after that will be of no concern to me.”

“You are wise, my master.”

Hamatsa reached under Kinqalatlala’s coat and grabbed one of her breasts. “Remember who you serve,” he commanded. “Fail me and I will cut these off and feed them to the furies. I will cut your heart out and feast on it myself!”

Margarita jumped to her feet underneath the dining table and raced across the apartment floor to the bay window. Stretching herself up to her full length, she growled and pawed at the blinds. Blue Tara slammed her beer on the table and jumped out of her chair. “Something is wrong,” she said. She stepped to the window and peered through the blinds, her hand gripping her battle axe.

∆∆∆

As I struggled to put my clothes back on I asked Kinqalatlala, “Where do we go from here? I’m guessing the tlogwe is not going to come to me, so we’ll. . . I’ll need to go and find it.”

“You are correct. The tlogwe will not come to you. You must seek the tlogwala, the keeper of the treasure.”

“And where do I find the tlogwala? How do I even know where to look?”

“You are already on the correct path. You are in the spirit world. I can not tell you where to find the tlogwala because if I knew that I would seek him out myself.”

“Well, that’s not a lot of help. And I’m guessing the spirit world is just as big as the real world. If not bigger? Only without cars.”

“The spirit world is just as real as your world. Your standing next to me talking to me should convince you of that. Do not make the mistake of denigrating that which you do not understand. It could cost you your eternal soul.”

“So, if I’m dead. . . “ I found myself staring into Kinqalatlala’s hypnotic black eyes, like black holes into her consciousness. “If I’m a ghost, then can I just dispense with walking around this reality and searching for something I have no clue about? Can’t I just levitate? Or mind meld? Or do whatever it is that Blue Tara does to bend time and space?”

“You can not change your reality and assume magic you do not possess. The spirit world is just as real as your world. And is governed by the same laws of nature. The sky is up. The world is down,” Kinqalatlala said, stamping her foot on the ground. “A rock dropped will fall down, not up.” She picked up a rock off the ground and dropped it on my foot.

“Ouch!” I cried. “No, wait. How is that possible? I’m dead. Or am I?”

“You have a narrow conception of death,” she replied.

“Death is simply the absence of existence. You are dead now to your world, but you are very much alive to the spirit world. Someday, with my help, you may be able to master the magic required to travel between these two worlds. Without my help, you may find yourself forever lost in the spirit world, or worse. Forever lost.”

“Will I get hungry in the spirit world? Or thirsty?” I looked up and down Kinqalatlala’s naked body. At least I’m not dead to women, I thought to myself.

“You waste time concerning yourself with trivial matters when you should be searching for the tlogwe.”

“See, there you go again. I don’t have a clue whether to go east, west, north, or south. Should I go into the forest? Or should I go out to sea? I’m not going to just charge off like a chicken without a head.”

“Why would a chicken charge off without a head?”

I looked back into Kinqalatlala’s mournful eyes. “Did you just make a joke?” She looked back at me quizzically. “It’s a figure of speech. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You were a person who studied your world and your history, is that correct?” I nodded. “Then apply the same principles to this world. You face a problem. You need to solve it.”

“But when I study the history of my world I have books and documents that give me answers. I don’t see a library here,” I said, as a waved my hand toward the longhouse. “Maybe I’ll just sit here and wait for the Taras to rescue me.”

“Then you are a fool. You would have a long wait. The Taras, as powerful as they are, have no powers in this world.”

“So you say, but I’m not so sure. You might just be saying that so I don’t sit here and wait for them to rescue me.”

“I have no reason to lie to you. And every reason to help you.”

“Then help me by telling me how to start my journey. Tell me which way to go. Tell me how far to go.”

“You stand on a sacred ground, home to the ancestors who created this place. Possibly your journey is shorter than you realize.”

Damn. Kinqalatlala would make a great poker player, I thought to myself. “Michael said there was an ancient Indian burial ground under the city. Is that what you mean?”

“You are in the world of the dead. This entire world is a burial ground.”

I walked up to the longhouse and inspected the double-headed serpent painted on the front wall. Then I noticed the totem standing in front of the building. The furies. Qoaxqoaxual. Hoxhok. Gelogudzayae. Nenstalit. I rubbed the cedar wood with my hands.

“Of course,” I said. “The tlogwala is a bird. The ancients worshiped birds. The great raven. The giant crane. The fierce condors. I’m looking for a bird.”

“See. Your task is not so difficult as you might think.”

“But I need a bird to find a bird. I need the Taras. I need Princess Tara and Garuda.”

“As I have told you, the Taras can not help you here in the spirit world. They have no powers in the world of the dead.”

“Then help me get back to my world. It seems you possess the magic to travel between the worlds of the living and the dead. Get me back to my world. Join with me and the Taras. We can fight Hamatsa together.”

“Only Hamatsa has the power to get you back to your world. Or possibly the tlogwala. I do not possess that magic.”

“Then what good are you to me?” I asked.

“If you want to find a bird, you need to get up into the sky where birds can be found,” Kinqalatlala replied.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any wings.”

“Neither did the furies, at first.”

“Yes, but they found a cliff of crystal quartz, which turned them into birds. And then they couldn’t turn themselves back into people. They had to make a bargain with the devil.”

“I saved them from obliteration,” a voice said from the doorway into the longhouse. “The devil had nothing to do with it. I saved their lives.”

I spun around. I recognized Hamatsa’s voice immediately. He stepped out of the doorway, clad in black boots, black leather pants, a long black leather frock coat, a black leather fedora, and black leather gloves. The black leather accentuated his pallid yellow face and glowing red eyes. I stumbled backwards away from him as he stepped forward.

“You enslaved the furies,” I said. “You didn’t save them. You gave them a fate worse than death. You turned them into cannibals, just like you.”

“I gave them immortality. Eternal life. I can do the same for you. I can give you the Water of Life and send you back to your world. Or I can obliterate your very existence.”

“And turn me into your slave? Just like her,” I replied, pointing at Kinqalatlala. “As for turning me into a cannibal. No thanks. I’m a vegetarian.”

“You found my slave pleasurable, did you not?” Hamatsa said. I stared at Kinqalatlala in surprise. Her face remained expressionless. Did Hamatsa watch us make love?

“You can enjoy her pleasures whenever you wish, if you help me. I can make her your slave.”

I began to think my former life of celibacy didn’t seem so bad. “She bewitched me,” I replied, knowing that was a lame excuse. “I have no interest in helping you, and a lot of interest in stopping you. And I have no interest in a sex slave,” I added, glancing at Kinqalatlala’s breasts.

“Then I have no choice but to obliterate you,” Hamatsa replied.

“I take it you make up for your lack of intelligence with your good looks?” I told Hamatsa.

“Insolent fool!” Hamatsa yelled. He struck me across my face with his gloved fist and knocked me backwards into Kinqalatlala’s arms.

This being dead thing just isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I thought to myself as I scrambled to my feet, trying to rub the pain out of my chin with my hand.

End of Chapter Three