Founding Mimion

By Rigel Ailur

Dr. Jacklyn Walsh battles to prove herself to her colleagues, But will this discovery of a lifetime cost her her life? Queen Samara’s youngest daughter exhibits an unimaginable ability that might doom them all. Lady Kuleigh of Kirynt chases her cousin Penden all the way to Earth to prevent her from meddling in the other planet’s past. The three women’s goals intertwine then ultimately crash together in a climax that will determine the fate of not one but two worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bluetrix Books
• Release date: Jul 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463932360

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jack, get your sorry ass in here! The bellow echoed off the wood-paneled walls and rattled the lone window in the office

Jacklyn Walsh bit down hard on her lower lip—to keep from letting out a guffaw at the shocked and horrified expression on the face of the girl sitting across the carved darkwood table from her.

As soon as my student leaves, Professor, Jacklyn—Jack to anyone who knew her—called into the adjoining office.

A crash of falling books preceded the rumble of a chair, followed by another thud of chair hitting wall. The succession of noise was so swift that the tall bear of a man appeared in the doorway almost instantly. Winston Talbot’s immense form filled the doorway, even oversized as it was due to the hundred-year-old architecture.

He flushed deep red with embarrassment, the color nearly matching his hair. Sorry, Dr. Walsh. I didn’t realize you were still working. Let me know when you’re done, would you please?

Jack flashed him a smile. Just a few more minutes.

Her mentor was legendary on campus for being a gentle giant—a reputation he richly deserved and took pains to cultivate. Otherwise, with his booming voice, blazing red hair, and 6’6" frame effortlessly supporting his three hundred fifty pound bulk, Professor Talbot could easily have terrorized everyone. But in private, he gleefully pretended to be ferocious.

Did you have any other questions? Jack tapped a finger on the table to get the girl’s attention. The student just about leapt to her feet and shoveled her books into her backpack.

No. The undergrad took a deep breath and seemed to shake off her stunned reaction. No, thanks, Dr. Walsh, that helped a lot.

For a second, Jack thought the girl was going to run headlong from the room, but the student slung her pack over her shoulder and strolled out at a normal speed. Jack rounded the table and leaned against the doorjamb. Her friend and mentor still looked contrite as he glanced up from the journal he was writing in.

You know, Jack couldn’t resist teasing, for a second I was sure she’d faint.

Ever the gentleman, he said, Well I’m glad she didn’t. Sorry about that.

Jack burst out laughing. You are such a troublemaker. You should have seen the look on that poor girl’s face. She probably thought you were about to eat me or something.

Winston carefully set the bound volume in a desk drawer, and Jack saw immediately he was stalling.

You heard back, didn’t you? Jack folded her arms and braced herself, wondering which of her prospects was about to be dashed. It was practically a full-time job keeping grant proposals in the mail.

Playing with some pens, he didn’t reply and refused to meet her gaze.

Jack’s heart sank to her knees as she dropped heavily into one of the high-backed chairs opposite his huge oak desk. Spit it out.

Now he looked up and her gut twisted even worse. Her friend’s eyes welled up and he pressed his mouth in a tight line to keep his lips from quivering.

All three responses came in today, at just about at the same time. He spoke so softly she had to lean closer to hear him.

All three? The blood drained from her face and she could barely get the words out. Someone had just punched her in the gut. All three? Already?

He just nodded, looking even more miserable than she felt. And she felt pretty damn miserable. I’m sorry, kid. I thought for sure at least one of them…

She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, before forcing a resolute smile. Don’t worry, I’m not giving up. On to the next ones on the list. But they both knew the list was short to begin with, and wasn’t getting any longer. Not many places gave away money for people to go digging in dirt all day in the hopes of finding something—anything, however tiny—of historical significance.

He gave her a look, a speculative gleam in his gray-green eyes. You know, I just found out that a friend of mine, well a friend of a friend, does know someone. How about if I show him your proposal?

I’m pretty open to suggestions. Whom do you mean? And for where?

Matthew Prince. National Geographic.

Jack jerked against the back of the chair. You really think I have a shot in hell at that?

Can’t hurt to try, right?

Not exactly overwhelming enthusiasm, but honest and in line with what she already thought. Thanks, Winston. I really appreciate it. She got up and rounded the desk to kiss her colleague and mentor on the cheek. I’ll see you tomorrow.

He said something after her, but she didn’t really hear him. Her brave face crumbled as soon as she turned her back and fled from the room. It was all she could do not to break into tears as she hustled across the park-like campus and finally reached her car.

~ ~ ~

Jack flopped onto her bed, but the crying jag refused to come. Just as well. She despised crying anyway and tried her best not to be overemotional. Now she needed to plan, not weep.

It was beyond sweet that Winston supported her so wholeheartedly. She couldn’t have asked for a better friend or more devoted advisor. But even an academic powerhouse like Winston Talbot could only do so much. She needed to prove herself. She needed to show him and the rest of the faculty that her research was sound, and that his faith in her was justified.

Soon.

Because she needed tenure and this was her last shot. At her university, either third time was a charm, or three strikes meant you were out.

If she failed, sure maybe they’d keep her on as an adjunct teacher—big ‘maybe’—but her professional progress would be nonexistent. She’d have no career, and she’d barely have a job. And that would go for pretty much any university. Her field was small and highly competitive—and unforgiving. She was too close to being a laughingstock as it was.

‘Wonder Woman.’ That’s what people called her behind her back—and there was nothing wonderful about their intent. The mocking reference to the princess of the Amazons was intended as anything but a compliment. Instead, the derisive label indicated that her theories were every bit as fictional as the comic book superhero.

Besides, a 5’1" strawberry blond who weighed all of 95 pounds on a heavy day, she was far more likely to be mistaken for a pre-teen boy than the iconic amazon warrior. Blue eyes were about the only thing she and the Amazons’ favorite daughter had in common. Because of her diminutive stature, Jack made a point to wear dress slacks and pretty sweaters on campus, and kept a pair of heels in her office. In sneakers and jeans, she passed too easily for one of the students—most of whom were ten years her junior.

Oh, yeah, she was Wonder Woman, all right. Jack swallowed the bitterness and punched her pillow before rolling out of bed. She hated self pity but just couldn’t seem to shake it at the moment. College professor parents had home schooled her and her siblings, giving them every academic advantage. They’d been taking college classes from the age of fifteen. Now each parent was the president of a university—fortunately geographically close—and her three brothers and two sisters were on course to follow in their footsteps. Of course their fields were all in mathematics or hard sciences.

Only poor little Jack lagged behind. Silly Jackie, chasing myths and fairy tales instead of doing serious research. Foolish Jack who paid more attention to literature and long-dead languages than to science and who just couldn’t distinguish between fact and fiction. One of these days, they said, she’d quit playing games, grow up and have a serious career.

Jack sighed as she stomped over to her CD player to put in one of her favorite soundtracks, grabbing one at random from the pile. Raiders of the Lost Ark blared forth. She gave a snort of laughter, half derision, half wry amusement.

Ok, enough wallowing.

She got her laptop and strode to her desk to see what responses she’d gotten that day to the dozens of inquiries she regularly sent out. Eventually she’d need another trip abroad. That was the point of needing funding. No, she wasn’t hurting at the moment, but her grandmother’s bequest to her wouldn’t last forever and she wanted to tap it as little as possible.

Fortunately, a vast amount of information could be gathered electronically. She had volume upon volume of classical writings—from literature to memoirs to letters—that mentioned the Amazons. She had hundreds upon hundreds of illustrations of them, from wall paintings to artwork on dishes and shields, to loose sketches. She’d found pottery and statuary as well. The consensus—the most recent consensus—was that there may have been a matriarchal tribe, maybe even a city or two, somewhere along the eastern Mediterranean. The allegedly short lived cultural aberrations were supposedly quickly absorbed back in to the surrounding patriarchies.

They’d left so little behind. Then again, archeologists tended to forget that most societies from that long ago left very little behind. Anthropologists, archeologists and those who studied ancient and prehistoric times liked to tout their keen powers of observation and deduction. Not even privately did they like to admit how much of the detective work was guessing and intuiting. And luck.

Of course people who worked hard and refused to give up made their own luck.

With that thought in mind, Jack scrolled through the new pictures which had been emailed to her, from various people and from the searches she herself had running online. She perused a bunch of new urls as well. No telling when several smaller bits of data would combine and give her the breakthrough she needed.

She deleted the piece of hate mail from her childhood nemesis/professional rival. Every once in a while, one slipped past her spam filters. She also manually filtered out the usual crap that had to do with Wonder Woman, or Xena, or current fiction that posited several ‘real’ versions of Amazons, but she was used to that by now. Atalanta, Brünhilde, Aijaruc, showed up frequently in the fiction people sent to her. Jack snickered. Despite lacking any empirical proof, she firmly believed that the older the tales were, the more male historians had altered them over the course of history. How else to explain that the women—fictitious or real—combined combat with betrothal and felt the need to be bested by a man? No doubt it was the male ego that had adapted the stories.

She normally ignored the mentions of blond beauties in the depths of the Brazilian rain forest but this time a particular symbol caught her attention. The symbol from a newly discovered cave looked remarkably similar to some of the earliest artwork from north Africa and western Turkey. She double checked the name of the sender. Juan Suarez, a former neighborhood playmate now Professor Suarez and an acclaimed archeologist specializing in the Mayan and Aztec Empires. She, Juan and his twin brother Carlos had been inseparable as youngsters. Aside from the boys’ parents, she was the only one who could tell them apart. She wondered if Juan also caught continual grief from his family. His theories, some of them at least, weren’t all that different from hers.

The more deeply scholars—historical, archeological, anthropological, and others—delved into the past, the more evidence they found that contact among ancient civilizations had been far more common than anyone in the 20th century had ever dreamed. Not that it had been easy, or fast, but it had taken place. People in the 21st century were finding that more and more. So how did a bronze-age representation previously only seen on Mediterranean shores end up in the South American rain forest? Jack had assumed she’d need to get back to the middle east, or at least to eastern Europe or southern Russia.

The she read her friend’s note. A professor at a New Mexican university, he pleaded with Jack to come now. He’d found what he thought might be a whole city, well buried. Originally he’d assumed it would be from progenitors of the Aztecs or Mayans—his specialty. But as soon as he saw the art, he knew he needed her help. He especially needed to figure out exactly what he’d found before the news went public.

Amazons in the Amazon basin. This she had to see.

Careenta

Twenty Thousand Years Ago

Chapter 2

Queen Samara watched proudly as her daughters sparred in the sun-drenched clearing surrounded by the jungle sounds of raucous birds and playful monkeys and under the watchful ‘eye’ of a upcropping of stone that resembled a jaguar from which her people drew their name. Already tall and strong at only thirteen and fifteen summers old, the two girls were growing into fine warriors. Moving swiftly and lightly on the balls of their feet, the sisters fought with wooden poles that matched their height. Sharp, rapid-fire clacks of wood on wood punctuated their attacks, as did the occasional grunt of annoyance or cry of victory. But for the most part, the girls concentrated on the task at hand.

Their youngest sister—only three—slept blissfully in her mother’s lap, completely unbothered by all the activity. Little Reneema would be exposed to fighting lessons soon enough. No reason to hide her sisters’ training. Some of their neighbors were less peaceful than others, and the Careentans needed to maintain constant vigilance to prevent being overrun. They had their allies as well, associations based on mutual strength. The Careentans couldn’t let down their guard or let anyone think they could no longer defend their borders.

The queen nodded to the warrior overseeing her daughters’ training, and the woman signaled them to stop. A slightly raised eyebrow was all the inquiry the queen needed. The warrior told her what she could already see for herself—the girls learned quickly and well.

And the celebration tomorrow? The preparations? Their closest neighbor and they met twice yearly to celebrate and strengthen the friendship between the two tribes.

Everything ready, Ma’am. The artisans have outdone themselves as usual.

Samara looked forward to the semi-annual event more than many of her subjects did. Few men were allowed to live among them. Even fewer chose to, making up a mere one in twenty among the population. But Samara had formed a friendship with this particular king and she enjoyed his visits. And of course he’d bring the little prince with him. The son she’d born whom the king had happily claimed as his own. And—privately—the king had admitted to her that he looked forward to seeing the princesses as well even though he couldn’t publicly call them his own.

Duties done for the moment, the warrior left the royal mother and daughters alone. Ren stirred, giving a huge stretch and yawn as she came slowly awake. She held out her arms for her big sister. Atala, the eldest, settled the little girl on her hip as Kenama tousled the still-drowsy child’s hair.

Atala asked, Mother, I painted something for King Rodan. May I give it to him tomorrow as well?

Beaming with pride, Samara said, Of course. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased. Her daughter’s artistic skill, even at her young age, was nearly on par with her fighting skills. But the princesses, all three, also had other abilities they needed to hone. Have you two been practicing the silent speak as well?

Yes, mother, Atala said. It’s still difficult.

But we’re getting better at it, Kenama chimed in. Few among the Careentans could talk without words. Samara could, but only with the deepest concentration. The elders wielded the skill most easily, it seemed. The two princesses had manifested the talent young. With practice, Samara hoped they’d master it much more easily—and much sooner—than she herself had.

Why do you practice? Ren asked—without actually saying a word out loud.

Kenama gasped. Atala gaped at the youngster in her arms, and Samara doubted the evidence of her own senses. Very carefully—she still needed to make an effort—Samara concentrated her thoughts and, not speaking audibly, asked the little girl what she’d said.

As she’d hoped, Ren confirmed the instance was no fluke by replying silently. No words crossed her lips when she said, Why do Atala and Kenama practice, Mommy?

Samara blinked and tried to hide the shock. Ren communicated effortlessly. Because sometimes it’s hard for them to do, so they need to practice to make it easier.

Ren’s little brows drew together in deep confusion. But why’s it hard?

I don’t know, Little Cub. I don’t know.

I’ve been practicing a trick that’s hard for me, Mommy. Can I show you? Ren squirmed out of her big sister’s arms as she spoke. I can only do it sometimes, when I’m not tired.

Of course, Ren. What trick do you want to show us? Samara’s curiosity grew as the little girl gathered a handful of pebbles from the clearing and arranged them in a small circle.

I can make them dance. Satisfied with the placement, Ren took a step back and stood there staring intently at the stones.

One of them jumped a few inches in the air then fell back to the dirt. Then a second rock quivered and bounced as well. After a few more times, the whole ring of pebbles leapt a foot into the air then rained back to the ground.

See? Is that good? Ren asked, a huge grin on her small round face.

Samara knelt down and gathered the child into her arms. Yes, Ren, that’s very good. Can you do it again?

But her youngest daughter shook her head and frowned. No, I’m too tired now. But tomorrow I can.

Hugging Ren, the queen saw over the blond curls that her other two girls were standing there slack-jawed with shock. She stood up still holding Ren and included the other two in the hug as well, kissing them each. Stepping back, she looked the older two in the eye. Now listen to me very carefully, Samara spoke quietly but with supreme gravitas. This is our secret. It’s a royal secret, and it’s for princesses only. That means you can not talk about it with anyone else. Not anyone. Not your friends, not your teachers, not any of the warriors. No one.

Atala nodded in instant understanding. Kenama looked puzzled but nodded as well. Samara wasn’t worried—too much. Her oldest two were more than old enough to understand about keeping their word. But Ren…

Do you understand, Little Cub? You can’t show anyone, you can’t tell anyone, not even your playmates. This is for princesses only. It’s a very important secret. Only for you, and me, and your sisters.

Ren’s lips pursed as she absorbed the stern tone of the admonition. Only us. No one else, she nodded gravely.

Samara kissed the little girl’s forehead then set her down. Go back to the house for dinner. I’ll be along presently. She gave her a gentle nudge toward the older two.

Kenama took Ren by the hand and the two of them raced down the path between the trees. Atala lingered behind. Aren’t you even going to tell Benava? she asked softly.

Samara’s confidant from the time they were both Ren’s age, Benava now led the tribe’s warriors and was second only to the queen in leadership—at least until Atala came of age. Samara heaved a deep sigh.

I have no idea what I’m going to do, she confessed. To have such a prodigious ability, and at such a young age… her words trailed away.

How long until people start to find out? Atala asked, reasonably, Samara thought. Ren is only three.

Samara put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and they started down the trail after the two youngsters. I wish I knew that as well. But we’ll keep it to ourselves as long as we can.

The earthen wall around their city stood only ten feet high, but that gave them all the advantage they needed for defense. Careenta had never fallen in the century since it was built in the midst of the rain forest. With the population now nearly to the point of overflowing, soon they would either need to expand the wall, or construct another city nearby. Samara had yet to decide which she preferred, but she had to quit putting off the decision.

They had three cities already, and numerous villages as well. Some of the villages consisted of only two or three families. Others were larger, but not by much. Most of her people lived inside city walls and worked the farms outside during the day.

The heavy wooden gates stood open, as they normally did day and night. Outlying villages would send warning if any of their enemies moved on them. Or they’d flee to the city itself, seeking protection inside the walls. About five thousand lived in the city proper, and in each other city. Another ten thousand populated the surrounding area.

Close enough to the river to take for advantage of it for irrigation and transportation, Careenta was far enough away to not be threatened by an attack by boat. The road to the waterway, little more than a wide path through the dense foliage, was heavily traveled.

The wall and gate were decorated with brilliant blue ribbon, heralding the tomorrow arrival of their guests.

Mother, are you happy when King Rodan comes? Atala cast a sidelong glance up at her as they strolled up the dirt road.

Yes. He’s a good friend and a good man. It’s a pleasure to see him. When no further comment followed, Samara asked, Are you happy when King Rodan comes?

Atala considered that a few moments. Yes, I think he’s nice.

Do you wish he would come more often? All the men in Careenta were slaves, in name if not in fact. And Atala was close to the age when she’d be interested in