Thunderwalker: The Place Between Worlds

By Michael Schwaba

Dr. Annie Weston, a young ambitious anthropologist, journeys to Arizona in 1950 seeking a mysterious shaman named Thunderwalker. Traveling alone, armed with only a 9 mm handgun, some stolen maps and a beautiful crystal dagger, and sheer tenacity -- to overcome the obstacles that seem to roll in her way like tumbleweeds, she forges her way into the ruggedly haunting back country of the Navajo Painted Desert to search for Thunderwalker, with the help of a handsome cocksure teen-aged Navajo boy named Willie, and in spite of the menacing defiance of another mysterious Indian with dangerous powers of his own, Johnny Bear Slayer, as many of the colorful characters in his small band of cohorts can attest to.

Tales of witchcraft, kidnapped babies who are never seen again, gross cattle and sheep slaughters, sightings of strange wolves in the area who are rumored in whispers to have once been men. And Dark Walkers, unspeakable abominations that used to be human, who are driven to suck the very life essence of a man to feed themselves. All of these dangers await Annie on her quest.

After some help and hindrance along the way, she suspects that Thunderwalker is not simply a reclusive peaceful shaman living out near a cave on the Big Mesa, as her research and interviews have led her to believe, but a fearful, dangerous sorcerer, and that he dwells, not in this world of humans, but in the "Place Between Worlds." She also discovers an untapped power within herself, one that has been lying dormant since she was a young girl suddenly forced to defend herself against a would-be child molester in the only way she was able. But now, by the time she discovers this dwelling, and how to use this power, it may be too late for her. Like the spider and the fly...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Schwaba
• Release date: Nov 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311745958

Michael Schwaba

I was born in Chicago on a sunny day in September, one month premature according to my mother. I emerged in the dark wee hours of the morning and four days later I was welcomed into an Irish/Polish Catholic family. I must have slept through it; I don’t remember much of it. I was the fourth child, and in time there would be four more, years before I left home and hometown to go out in the world on my own.My two earliest memories are: 1) lying on the floor, looking at an enormous pair of feet in front of me, and 2) Piano playing. My parents played; my mother’s parents played; my aunts and uncles played. I cannot recall many days when someone wasn’t playing the piano in our house. So, having a love of piano music, I eventually sat down one day and learned to play...the guitar.I loved reading at an early age. It stimulated my imagination, and this inspired me to write.Writing gives me purpose in life. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Oh! There you are! Thought I’d lost you...”I love writing as much as I love reading. I love the excitement of "watching" the characters and feeling the flow of words when I am in the "zone." I love the tired ecstasy of reading something finished, and knowing that it is better written than my last piece. I have even (sometimes) come to love writing myself into a corner, when I don't know where else to go, which I do much more frequently than I used to, only now it is not as crippling as it used to be, though it is still as exasperating. I have proved to myself over time that some of my best writing is to be found in those corners if I will simply do one thing when I don't feel like writing. And that is write.MS

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