The Star Stone, The Chair, and The Dog: Book 1 Secrets of the Star Stone Society

By David Marshall Hunt

A comet swarm threatens earth, will clashing civilizations join forces in time to survive?
Join Professor Josiah Craft who uncovers a stone with secret powers and follow him and his team as they travel back in time to learn that the stone has secrets that might hold the answer to saving the earth from disaster.
Enjoy the wild ride!
Love the Akita!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483544472

Book preview

Proverb

PART I

THE MYSTERY OF DUNK’S

DISAPPEARANCE

Chapter One: Shooting Stars over the Mara

Off for a Year in Kenya

Why do you call this van The Crow, Uncle Dunk? My almost sixteen year old granddaughter Kat was peppering my mentor and closest friend, Professor Dunk Amundsen, with questions so fast he couldn’t answer one before she was off to another. He was driving us from Illinois’ River View University where we both teach to St. Louis’ Lambert Field to catch our KLM flight to Nairobi. Kat was thrilled to accompany me on my sabbatical year in Kenya, what her grandmother had called the adventure of a lifetime. When I invited Kat to join me for a year in Africa, she shouted: Wow, Poppa, wait 'til I tell the girls at school all about our adventures when we get back. Now Dunk had doubled her excitement by chauffeuring us to the airport in this marvelous contraption.

Look at all the antennas, computers and screens. What’s this for? Kat said, reaching for a shiny lever.

Please don’t flip that silver lever, Dunk replied. It disconnects our communications system. Palms up, Kat leaned back, leaving Dunk a chance to fill us in about the van.

CROW stands for Curfew Research-lab On Wheels, and she's really amazing. Dunk eagerly demonstrated the features of this incredible machine. She's set up and equipped for research and trips to wherever roads lead, and she can accommodate provisions for a two month stay in remote places such as our archaeological dig on James Bay near Waskaganish in Quebec.

Kat’s eyes widened as Dunk told us all about the CROW. A lithe brunette who had inherited the same steely grey eyes all the Crafts have, Kat was so smart her grandfather—that was me, Josiah Craft, or as she preferred, Poppa—had a hard time keeping up with her. She was my daughter Penny’s oldest child and was keen to get under way on her first adventure to anywhere outside Illinois that wasn’t a military base. It was a good time for her to take this trip. Penny told me she was really been missing her Dad, Captain Jared Burton, deployed on Mission Iraqi Freedom as a C-5A transport pilot with the U.S. Air Force.

During our nine months in Kenya, we planned to celebrate and pay tribute to my wife Ann-Marie, Kat’s grandmother Nana. She died just ten months ago. Ann-Marie had treasured our adventures to the lands of the Masai some fifteen years earlier and had filled Kathryn's childhood years with her own fondest memories of Africa, telling her granddaughter stories of its incredible people and places. Her favorite memory was seeing her first shooting star streaking across the stark black heavens above the Masai Mara, the landscape named after the Masai people and how they see the land. 'Mara' means spotted and when you look out at the landscape, it does look as if it’s speckled. Clumps of trees, scrub, and savanna, as well as the shadows of clouds, dot the land. But at night, it’s the sky that takes your breath away. Watching that shooting star over the Mara, Ann-Marie had made a wish and kept it a secret all these years, sharing it with me the day before she died. I had shared the wish with my daughter Penny in order to persuade her to let Kat go with me to Kenya.

What’s in that big wooden crate in the back, Uncle Dunk? Kat was at it again.

Oh, it’s empty now, Dunk answered. That's why it’s lying in sections on the back bunk. I used it to bring a big rock I suspect to be a meteorite back from James Bay a few years back and never threw it out."

A meteorite, how cool is that! Kat marveled.

We glided north along Interstate highway 57 and made the turn to the west onto Interstate 64 at Mount Vernon, Illinois. All the while, Dunk was regaling Kat with the story of how he found the big meteorite stone.

It was pure accident that I found what I first thought was a cornerstone for a fort. It was located at the site of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s first fort built in 1668 CE on James Bay at the mouth of Rupert’s River—

Uncle Dunk, what’s CE? Kat interrupted.

 CE means ‘Common Era,’ Kat. It’s a way to date an event without bringing in religion the way, for example, BC or ‘before Christ’ did. Don’t they teach you that in school yet? It’s not that new.

No, but what a great idea, Kat replied. Then, without missing a beat, Dunk picked up his tale about discovering the rock.

We found Cree and Ojibwa artifacts and some trade items, tools and utensils, but the fort itself was abandoned a year after it was built. What puzzled me was that the stone’s texture made me think it was a meteorite, but I still can’t figure out how it got there. There’s no evidence of an impact crater, so the rock was transported from somewhere else and got to its present location by means unknown. I brought the rock back to the University for carbon dating and other tests. It contains taenite and kamacite and that makes it a legitimate possibility to be a meteorite because these rare and highly magnetic minerals aren’t found on earth. Dunk’s account had captivated Kathryn.

How fabulous, Uncle Dunk. A rock from outer space.

Yes, it is fabulous, Dunk replied. I had a replica of the Throne at Westminster Abbey built and I use the meteorite as ballast. The chair and the rock take up a chunk of office space at the Track. When you get back from Kenya, I’ll show it to you. I knew Dunk had been into meteors, comets, and celestial stuff ever since he found that stone at James Bay. He even bought a fishing cabin at Skeleton Lake in the Muskoka region of northeastern Ontario. Skeleton Lake was most likely a crater lake, and Dunk spent many a night there watching the sky.

We pulled into St. Louis’s Lambert Field where we were to catch our flight to Amsterdam and on to Nairobi, eight time zones away. We began our goodbyes. This CROW has the smoothest ride and the neatest gadgets. Thanks for the ride and the meteorite story, Uncle Dunk. Kat gave him a quick hug before he could hop back into the van.

Safe journey, Dunk called out. Enjoy the Masai Mara. Best meteor shower viewing in the entire world. And don’t forget to take a ride on the iron snake.

On Sabbatical in Kenya

In between my lectures and her classes, Kathryn and I planned to go on the two safaris Dunk had recommended. Kat loved the fact that 'safari' meant journey in Kiswahili, exploring and observing the peoples, plants and creatures of the land, and best of all for Kat, sleeping under the stars. We wanted to learn as much as we could about Kenya but equally important, we planned to honor Ann-Marie.

We checked in at Nairobi’s historical Norfolk Hotel where guests had once shot elephants while seated on the hotel’s back porch and where, more recently, in 1985, the film crew and cast of Out of Africa, including Meryl Streep and Robert Redford, had stayed. After two days at the Norfolk, we arranged to rent an apartment two blocks from the hotel and across the street from Nairobi University where I soon began my year as a Visiting Fulbright Professor in the College of Business.

During our first month in Nairobi, I rode the matatus with Kat most mornings to the Kenyan American School. Those minibuses, painted with portraits or slogans or religious sayings, are dangerous at any speed and the trip to the School was a hazardous half-hour journey on narrow, curved roads with lots of pot holes, bumps, zebra crossings and go-rounds marked by circles of painted white curbing or rocks with a bed of flowers or a monument in the center. The sheer abundance of matatus, combined with local trucks, cars, buses, bicycles and pedestrians, heightened the hazard.

Why don’t we buy a car, Poppa? Kat asked me that first morning as we jumped out of a matatu at the entrance to the school and found ourselves surrounded by a sea of black limousines. Kathryn gestured with a sweep of her left arm and said, I’ll bet more than half of the kids here come to school in chauffer driven Benz’s.

I’ll take it under advisement, I replied. Right now we need to head over to the administrative office to get you registered for classes and to get permission for you to miss classes while on safari. Fortunately, all went well as the School officials saw such outings as essential to the cultural learning experience. Coming back out of the office, I turned to Kat.

I think for now you might consider the matatu trips the way the School sees the safari, all part of the cultural experience, I grinned.

Kat’s Birthday Surprise

For her birthday dinner, I took Kat to one of Ann-Marie’s favorite eateries in the world, Trattoria’s, an Italian restaurant in the heart of Nairobi. I also had a surprise for her after dinner.

I had asked Kat to work out our star viewing schedule and she’d been at work on it for weeks. Over dinner, she announced: Mission ‘Orionids over the Mara’ is good to go at 0600 hours, 19 October 2007 CE. Later, over the last of dessert, Kat beamed. It’s gelato to die for. Now I know why Nana loved this place.

After dinner and back at the Norfolk, a long distance call—my surprise for Kat—came through. Hi Mom, is it really you? Kat said. We went to Trattoria's and had the best gelato in the whole world. I could hear the other voices via the hook up.

Happy sweet sixteenth, Kathryn. Nana loved that restaurant, Penny replied.

How's Dad? Kat asked.

I'm fine, Jared Burton's husky voice replied. Still in Iraq, can't tell you exactly where, secrets and all that, but your Poppa arranged a satellite phone feed so I could wish my baby girl a happy sweet sixteenth birthday.

I didn't want to interrupt their talk so I waited my turn. Hi, Penny, we're safe. Having a great time and we've been planning a safari to view the Orionids in the Mara in a month or so, depending on the weather and the stage of the moon. Stay safe, Jared.

Take care of my baby girl, Craft, Jared replied.

For sure, Captain. Love you, Penny. We rang off.

Thanks, Poppa, you’re the best. Kat smiled and gave me a big kiss.Dad always calls me his baby girl. I’m sixteen now, but I guess it's okay.

On Safari in the Masai Mara

After two months of classes, lectures, studies and work and a solid month of heavy rains, we were both ready for the first of our two safaris and excited to be on our way to see the marvelous fireworks in the heavens. Kat had checked the weather forecast and announced: Great weather! Clear night skies are forecast for both October 21st and 22nd when the Orionids meteor shower will be on display. Not a cloud and it’s the night of the new moon. It is my duty to report, she continued, that the debris or, shall I say, the remnants of Halley’s comet will provide a spectacular display of shooting stars for your viewing pleasure on these two nights. Halley’s comet, how cool is that!

On our ride to the Mara, our guide Ahmad expounded on the history and traditions of the Masai, their fierce warrior skills, and their belief that it was their divine duty to care for and herd all the cattle of the world. Kat sat raptly attentive throughout. Soon, we crossed a flowing stream and Ahmad drove the big old Benz truck under a grove of acacia trees next to a high point where the stream’s bank acted as a shelter. This was to be our campsite for the next two nights, right smack in an open landscape that reminded me of Montana, far from the glare of city lights. We unpacked our gear from the Benz, and Kat got busy setting up her telescope for the first night of stargazing.

Would you care to go over to the Masai village with me and pay our respects to the chief and his family? Ahmad asked. On the way back you may help me get the water from the stream.

Kat answered enthusiastically, Oh yes, please.

A few hundred meters from our campsite was a mud and thatched roof village of huts clustered in a semicircle. Cattle were wandering in and out of the huts along with the people. Kat soon learned that the cattle slept in the huts along with the Masai families, keeping everyone warm and sheltered. When mixed with milk, the blood of the cattle was a main part of their diet.

Kat did not understand the language, but she soon understood that Ahmad was seeking the blessing of the village chief to camp by the stream. They haggled and settled on a price in trade goods, returning to get the water from the stream just before the sun set.

The Orionids Arrive: Make a Wish

After we settled around our campfire and feasted on meatloaf and ice cream, Ahmad told us one more tale of the Masai.

Legend has it that Engai, the brightest and highest star in the night sky, took milk and splashed it across the heavens making the stars that form the Milky Way. Stars, sun, and moon foretell the start and end of each season and the Masai use these heavenly bodies to navigate and to forecast weather. The Orionids meteor shower returns each year to the skies over these lands and we shall observe them and make wishes of our own.

As night crept up on us, we watched the skies change their hue. A panorama of oranges, reds, purples, and fading blue skies transformed daylight into darkness all around us. The heavens above soon enveloped us in the blackest of nights. As if by magic, the blackness then gave way to an expansive, star-filled sky. Kathryn announced, A black moonless night, a new moon, perfect for viewing the Orionids, delivered as ordered.

Facing forward there was nothing to see. Stretched out on the canvas tarps topped with sleeping bags, the earth was still hard and cold. But gazing upward shifted the perspective in more ways than one. Looking straight up, we got the full impact of the feeling that we humans are but a minuscule part of what lives on earth and an infinitesimally small particle of the universe that surrounds us in shimmering lights.

I never dreamed there are so many stars. Is that glowing waving green light the Milky Way? Kat asked. Ahmad nodded. Kat and I were on our backs looking up at the heavens and marveling. Using the carefully laid out plans she’d worked on for weeks, Kat began to guide our exploration of the sky.

Step one is finding the constellation Orion, which is identifiable by the bright three star belt at the center of an hourglass shape. Be sure to look for the radiant, the central point. That’s where the meteors seem to come from. Since we’re close to the equator, all this should be overhead. It took some getting used to, viewing the heavens at night while on the ground, staring straight up, vertigo and all that. There were other practical tasks to attend to as well.

If step 1 is locating Orion’s belt, then step 2 is spreading a waterproof canvas sheet beneath sleeping bags, I added. In the desert after a hot day, the temperature drops a lot at night, and with no cloud-cover, it may get cold here on the ground of the Mara. Plus, we’ll be staring upward for hours.

Perhaps some Ben-Gay for Poppa’s sore neck would be in order for step 3, Kat giggled.

I ruffled her hair and said, Age is what age is.

I asked the science teacher at school, Ms. Flora, and she told me there should be several shooting stars each hour. She also said to note how they glide across the night skies. It’s not a speeding radar blip. Kat returned to her guided presentation on the sky. I told Ms. Flora that I had never seen a radar blip. But I got the point.

Not even a sliver of moon appeared. At first, the stillness and quiet of this place were almost magical. The snapping of the fire and our occasional voices were the only sounds. As our eyes adjusted to the dark and our hearing to the silence, we began to sense a presence all around us.

Ahmad shuffled over to Kat and me, offering us two large flashlights. Then he gestured for us to follow him outside the circle of fire light. Once in the dark, he turned on his own flashlight, and we did the same. The bright lights pointed straight out into the night across the stream bank that provided a backstop for our campsite. An incredible number of yellow and red pairs of eyes stared back at us from the darkness, silhouetted by the shadowy, grayish, figures of dozens of hyenas. Kathryn gasped. It took me a moment or two to recover as well.

Somewhat breathless, we turned back toward our campfire, and Kat resumed her post at the telescope. I counted thirty seven quadrillion stars, give or take a few thousand, and the odd planet or two, Kat joked. Look, there it is, she shouted. Come see, it’s Orion’s belt. Kat and I took our turns at the telescope. I see the whole hourglass, Kat said.

Now, let’s find the apogee with our naked eyes. I said.

Oh my! Kat shouted with a gasp of excitement. I see it. It’s gliding across the belt. Do you see it? She knelt as if in prayer and made a wish. I was doing the same thing.

I know that legend has it, that if your wish upon a shooting star is to come true, you must never tell what you wished for, I said. But I know what Nana wished for when she saw her first shooting star.

Not daring to ask what Nana's wish was, Kathryn asked, Did it come true?

Yes, I replied and blew a kiss to the heavens. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I recalled Ann-Marie’s voice—Craft, please take my granddaughter to see the Orionids meteor showers over the Mara. I made no attempt to fight off the tears and whispered to the darkness and the night sky, Promise kept, my love.

The meteor shower continued as the dragon’s tails coursed across the heavens and vanished into the unknown. Now my granddaughter had a memory and a secret wish of her own. Without a word, Kat and I knew Nana had somehow been with us. Kat whispered in my ear,

Poppa, where do shooting stars go to land? Later, whenever I recalled Kathryn's seeing her first shooting star, I always heard her soft voice asking that single question. It became the memory I cherished most of all.

As the meteor showers continued, my thoughts turned to the meteorite Dunk had brought back from his dig at James Bay. It was once a shooting star as well. Still, I thought Dunk was right. It probably didn’t fall where he found it. Though time and glaciers could have erased an impact crater, it was more likely that humans had transported the meteorite to where he found it, leaving its real landing place a mystery.

Back in Nairobi, as I checked my BlackBerry for messages, I found myself fantasizing about traveling back in time. Technology was developing so fast that I imagined one day being able to say to my BlackBerry, or to one of its offspring: Take me to the time of the exploration of James Bay, or Take me to the place where the meteorite landed on earth. Then I’d hit send, and I'd be hurtling into the past to observe the meteorite’s actual arrival.

The Iron Snake and Mombasa

From the Orionids over the Mara to the beaches of the Indian Ocean, how fab is that! Kat exclaimed as we arrived at the Nairobi train station. Recalling Dunk's parting words, we both wanted to ride the famous iron snake to Mombasa. After a Saturday trek to Trattoria’s and one more gelato, we had gotten our train tickets and made reservations at the Two Fishes Resort for three weeks on the beaches of the Indian Ocean. Soon, we were on our way. Settled into our coach seats, I began to tell Kat what I knew about the iron snake.

Its tracks run from Lake Victoria and the tea country, along a portion of the rift valley and past Mount Kenya, to the edge of Nairobi where we boarded, and on past Mount Kilimanjaro to the beaches of the Indian Ocean and Kenya’s port city of Mombasa.

Great, Kat interrupted. When do we get to see Mount Kilimanjaro?

Sorry, Kat, we’ll be going past Kilimanjaro during the night, I replied.

Oh! Kathryn sighed with genuine disappointment. To distract her, I returned to the story about the train.

The iron snake is a prophecy, a foretelling of the coming of white men and their railroads, an evil omen of troubles yet to come. Tribal chiefs and prophets foresaw the coming of a black snake and the disappearance of all the cattle, plundered from the Masai and other tribes of Eastern Africa by the white colonizers who would bring this iron snake with them and change all things in their lands forever after.

That’s what happened to Africa, isn’t it, Poppa? It was my turn to sigh, but instead, I continued on with what I knew about its stories and legends, filling in bits and pieces I remembered from my earlier trip with Ann-Marie. Dark began to fall and we soon opened the basket of food we’d brought along, enjoyed our meal, and slept as best we could.

The next morning we disembarked at the small Mombasa station, found our baggage and a taxi, and headed for The Two Fishes. I was really looking forward to the weeks of downtime. The Two Fishes compound sat amid an acre of bougainvillea and within earshot of the soothing sounds of the Indian Ocean lapping up on the beach. That night, however, I found myself tossing and turning in my sleep, unaware of how deeply I missed Ann-Marie. This was the first vacation I had ever taken without her and my dreams were full of memories of her.

The next morning Kathryn told me, You were smiling in your sleep last night, Poppa.

Memories, memories, memories, I smiled in reply.

I’m glad they’re happy memories, Poppa. Kathryn gave me a hug.

Tragic News Ends Our Africa Year

Just a few days into our stay, one of the resort’s staff softly knocked on our door. Jambo, Sahib Craft! Sorry to disturb you, a low voice called.

Jambo, I replied as I opened the door.

Sahib, you have a long distance call from the States of America.

Thanks, I’ll be over to the office right away. When I got to the lobby, the hotel operator held out the phone.

The call is from a Dean Wetsock in America. Chuckling at the mispronunciation of the Dean’s surname, I heard my evil elf telling me over my left shoulder how the students at RVU would love to use that as a nickname. But I wondered at the hour. It was well past sunset, 10 pm CST in southern Illinois. I ducked under an overhanging beam and took the house phone in hand.

Dean Wysock, nice to hear from you. How are things in River View?

Sorry to be the bearer of unhappy tidings, Craft. I’ll get right to the point. Professor Amundsen has disappeared and the Ontario Provincial Police think he committed suicide, drowning himself up at Skeleton Lake. I felt a chill and a sense of disbelief.

"I’ll e-mail you the details, but for now I wanted to tell you directly. Craft, I need to impose on you to cut your sabbatical short and return home, the sooner the better. I wouldn’t ask except I really need your help back here to fill in for Dunk, including some important guest speaking engagements and fund raisers for the Curfew Foundation that Dunk won’t be able to keep. We’ll pick up the transport costs for you and Kathryn