She Was the Kind of Person That Keeps a Parrot

By Michael Ostrogorsky

Smart people say the Chicxulub impactor asteroid that smashed into the Yucatán Peninsula sixty-five million years ago, give or take, wiped out the dinosaurs, along with most other life on the planet, this unfortunate occurrence known today as the Cretaceous–Paleogene (K–Pg) extinction event. Parrot people know that dinosaurs still live among us, as parrots.

The K–Pg extinction event marked the end of the Cretaceous Period, the golden age of dinosaurs, and the beginning of the Cenozoic Era that continues today. We know from the fossil record that parrots lived on both sides of the K–Pg extinction event. Parrots, like woodpeckers and owls, are zygodactyl, which is a very dinosaurish sounding name for avian feet with two toes forward and two back, unlike the three forward and one back most modern birds feature. Fossilized zygodactyl tracks have been found dating to 120–110 million years ago (early Cretaceous period), 50 million years before the first identified zygodactyl fossils.

Although controversial, the oldest reputed parrot fossil, found in Wyoming of all places, dates to the Mesozoic Era unceremoniously extinguished by the Chicxulub impactor asteroid. The Wyoming parrot fossil is notable for several reasons. The fossil appears to be part of a fully-formed modern parrot, not an antecedent or prototype. This fossil suggests parrots are older than we expected. Much older. Found in Wyoming, the fossil also suggests parrots did not originate where we expected. Fully modern parrot fossils have been recovered on the near side of the K–Pg extinction event as well. A fully formed parrot fossil dated to the Paleocene Epoch was discovered on Denmark's Isle of Mors, nicknamed Danish Blue in honor of the Monty Python Ex-Parrot. This find is important because the fossil suggests that parrots evolved in the northern hemisphere before branching into widely diverse species in the southern tropics. This fossil evidence suggests parrots are not evolved from dinosaurs, like some modern birds such as chickens. Parrots are dinosaurs. Living, breathing, modern dinosaurs.

The questions remain, how did parrots survive the Chicxulub impactor asteroid when most every other dinosaur did not? And unlike other dinosaurs, which demonstrate a clear evolutionary path through the fossil record, parrots simply showed up. What if the creatures we know today as parrots showed up from somewhere else? Somewhere far, far away. In time and space?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Ostrogorsky
• Release date: May 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463522660

Michael Ostrogorsky

Michael Ostrogorsky, Ph.D.s, History & Archaeology. Publisher. Blue Parrot Books. Parrot and coffee bean wrangler. Living in Seattle with two parrots. One of the parrots is big, blue, and a princess. A princess who just happens to be a witch. A witch with a coffee addiction. A witch named Princess Tara.Book One of the Princess Tara Chronicles, Blue Tara; Or, How Is a Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Like a Tibetan Goddess? now available.Book Two of the Princess Tara Chronicles, The Princess Witch; Or, It Isn't As Easy to Go Crazy As You Might Think, now available.Book Three of the Princess Tara Chronicles, completing the Blue Tara Trilogy, Parrots and Witches; Or, Love. Desire. Ambition. Faith. Without Them, Life Is So Simple, Believe Me, now available.Book Four of the Princess Tara Chronicles, Part One of the Kālarātri, or Black Night Trilogy, She Was Not Quite What You Would Call Refined, now available.Book Five of the Princess Tara Chronicles, Part Two of the Kālarātri, or Black Night Trilogy, She Was Not Quite What You Would Call Unrefined, now available.How do you defeat a goddess who controls death and time? Can you? Find the answer in the hair-raising head-lopping caffeine fueled conclusion to the Kālarātri or Black Night Trilogy, She Was the Kind of Person That Keeps a Parrot, Book Six of the Princess Tara Chronicles, NOW AVAILABLE!

Book preview

Part Three

Kālarātri or Black Night Trilogy

Book Six Princess Tara Chronicles

By Michael Ostrogorsky

Copyright 2020 Michael Ostrogorsky

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Be sure to read Part One of the Kālarātri, or Black Night Trilogy, Book Four of the Princess Tara Chronicles, She Was Not Quite What You Would Call Refined, available from Smashwords.

Be sure to read Part Two of the Kālarātri, or Black Night Trilogy, Book Five of the Princess Tara Chronicles, She Was Not Quite What You Would Call Unrefined, available from Smashwords.

If you enjoyed the Kālarātri, or Black Night Trilogy, be sure to read the Blue Tara Trilogy, Books One through Three of the Princess Tara Chronicles. Part One of the Blue Tara Trilogy: Blue Tara; Or, How Is a Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Like a Tibetan Goddess? available for FREE from Smashwords.

Part Two of the Blue Tara Trilogy: The Princess Witch; Or, It Isn’t As Easy To Go Crazy As You Might Think, available from Smashwords.

Part Three of the Blue Tara Trilogy: Parrots and Witches; Or, Love. Desire. Ambition. Faith. Without Them, Life Is So Simple, Believe Me, available from Smashwords.

The Princess Tara Chronicles are dedicated to the Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Princess Tara, my favorite witch. And yes, she really is a witch. I should know.

Special mention to the Blue and Gold Macaw Parrot Aboo, Princess Tara’s sidekick. Princess Tara is a hard act to follow, but rest assured, Aboo will get his place in the spotlight.

Special thank you to my editor, Helen O. Jones, for catching my mistakes.

. . . the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say?

There is no death, only a change of worlds.

Chief Seattle, 1854

Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.

William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Henry IV, Part 2, Act III, Scene 1

. . . But he who reigns

Monarch in Heav’n, till then as one secure

Sat on his Throne, upheld by old repute,

Consent or custom, and his Regal State

Put forth at full, but still his strength conceal’d,

Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.

Henceforth his might we know, and know our own

So as not either to provoke, or dread

New war, provok’t; our better part remains

To work in close design, by fraud or guile

What force effected not: that he no less

At length from us may find, who overcomes

By force, hath overcome but half his foe.

Space may produce new Worlds; whereof so rife

There went a fame in Heav’n that he ere long

Intended to create, and therein plant

A generation, whom his choice regard

Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven:

Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps

Our first eruption, thither or elsewhere:

For this Infernal Pit shall never hold

Celestial Spirits in Bondage, nor th’Abyss

Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts

Full Counsel must mature: Peace is despair’d,

For who can think Submission? War then, War

Open or understood must be resolv’d.

Satan’s soliloquy in Hades following expulsion from Heaven by the Archangel Michael

John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 1 Lines 637 - 662

Introduction

Smart people say the Chicxulub impactor asteroid that smashed into the Yucatán Peninsula sixty-five million years ago, give or take, wiped out the dinosaurs, along with most other life on the planet, this unfortunate occurrence known today as the Cretaceous–Paleogene (K–Pg) extinction event. Parrot people know that dinosaurs still live among us, as parrots.

The K–Pg extinction event marked the end of the Cretaceous Period, the golden age of dinosaurs, and the beginning of the Cenozoic Era that continues today. We know from the fossil record that parrots lived on both sides of the K–Pg extinction event. Parrots, like woodpeckers and owls, are zygodactyl, which is a very dinosaurish sounding name for avian feet with two toes forward and two back, unlike the three forward and one back most modern birds feature. Fossilized zygodactyl tracks have been found dating to 120–110 million years ago (early Cretaceous period), 50 million years before the first identified zygodactyl fossils.

Although controversial, the oldest reputed parrot fossil, found in Wyoming of all places, dates to the Mesozoic Era unceremoniously extinguished by the Chicxulub impactor asteroid. The Wyoming parrot fossil is notable for several reasons. The fossil appears to be part of a fully-formed modern parrot, not an antecedent or prototype. This fossil suggests parrots are older than we expected. Much older. Found in Wyoming, the fossil also suggests parrots did not originate where we expected. Fully modern parrot fossils have been recovered on the near side of the K–Pg extinction event as well. A fully formed parrot fossil dated to the Paleocene Epoch was discovered on Denmark's Isle of Mors, nicknamed Danish Blue in honor of the Monty Python Ex-Parrot. This find is important because the fossil suggests that parrots evolved in the northern hemisphere before branching into widely diverse species in the southern tropics. This fossil evidence suggests parrots are not evolved from dinosaurs, like some modern birds such as chickens. Parrots are dinosaurs. Living, breathing, modern dinosaurs.

The questions remain, how did parrots survive the Chicxulub impactor asteroid when most every other dinosaur did not? And unlike other dinosaurs, which demonstrate a clear evolutionary path through the fossil record, parrots simply showed up. What if the creatures we know today as parrots showed up from somewhere else? Somewhere far, far away. In time and space?

Prologue

I felt hands shaking my shoulders. Jason! a familiar voice called out.

My eyes popped open. Wracked with a pounding headache, my brain struggled to focus my eyes on the person shaking me awake. Michael? I queried. The last person I ever expected to see alive again came into focus.

A broad grin stretched from ear to ear across Michael’s face. He nodded his head. You had us worried there for a bit, partner, he said.

I had you worried? Are you kidding me? I replied. I craned my neck to look around me. I found myself on my back in the clearing outside the longhouse. Circe and Charlie, along with Blue Tara and Abigail, stood behind Michael, looking, worried, down at me. I pushed myself up on my elbows. What the fuck? Am I dreaming?

Not a dream, buddy, Michael assured me.

I squirmed out of Michael’s grasp. I pushed myself up on my knees. I slapped my hand to my forehead. I lowered my fingers, hesitant, to my eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief at not finding blood on my fingers. What happened? I asked, confused. I extended my hands to Charlie and Michael to help me climb to my feet. I pressed my hands to my head to try to contain the pain and dizziness tormenting my brain. Blue Tara wrapped an arm around my shoulders to steady me. She gave me a kiss for good measure.

Don’t honestly know what happened to you, Charlie replied. We found you out cold in the longhouse, with no sign of the two witches.

I don’t know if the red witch knocked you out, or if you slammed your head into the wall trying to pass through the portal, Michael added.

Lucky for you, sweetie, you did not manage to get through the portal, another familiar voice told me. I craned my neck to stare at the snow white daemon White Tara, smiling at me.

If that had happened, Blue Tara added, you would be lost to us forever.

You were out cold for quite a while, Charlie continued. You missed the white goddess bringing Michael here back from the dead.

I stared at Michael’s chest. I could see a long tear ripped through the front of Michael’s polo shirt. Seeing me eyeing his shirt, Michael pulled the tear open. Not a scratch, he said, gleeful. Unlike your face, he quipped.

I slapped my hand to my forehead again. That bad? I asked.

You had a nasty gash, Charlie said. Bleeding pretty bad. But the white witch took care of that too.

Michael touched a finger to my forehead. You’ve got a bad bruise there yet, buddy, Michael added, and probably a headache to match.

No kidding, I complained. My eyes danced from face to face. I realized one face was missing. Is everyone okay? I asked, worried. Jumping out of Blue Tara’s grasp, I bolted to the entrance to the longhouse. I peered inside, to be greeted only by darkness. Jean! I cried out.

Blue Tara grasped my shoulder. Your friend is gone, she told me. I fell into her arms, tears streaking down my cheeks. Yet, she lives, Blue Tara added. "As long as she lives, hope lives.

Did you see any way to operate the portal? Charlie asked me. He handed me a beer can that had ridden in Michael’s pack. I noticed he held one in his other hand as well. I popped the tab and guzzled the beer.

Oh my god! Michael blurted out at seeing the beer. I need one of those. He fished a can out of his pack. Blue Tara snatched the can out of his hand. Frowning, Michael dug another can out of the pack. Better enjoy that, he said. Looks like this is the last one.

Without the portal, we’re basically screwed, Charlie said. Any idea how to open the door?

Not a chance, I replied. Without Jean here, I have to agree with you.

So, I guess we need to return to the shop, Charlie concluded with a sigh. He drained his beer.

If we give up our quest, your world is doomed, Blue Tara remarked.

No pressure, I quipped, draining my beer.

But without the portal, how do we get to the black witch? Charlie asked.

An astonishing guttural honk, like the distilled call of an entire flock of Canadian geese, rolled across the top of the trees surrounding us to engulf the clearing we stood in, buffeting us like a spring rain squall off Elliott Bay. My eyes shot up into the sparkling blue sky. I mustered the loudest whistle my lips and my lungs could produce. Another shrieking honk greeted my whistle. Two immense shadows flashed over our heads, large enough to blot out the sun. I whistled again. Two winged behemoths sailed back across the clearing over our heads.

Oh my god! Charlie cried out. He dropped the beer can in his hand to grab his machine gun.

I stuck my hand out to grasp Charlie’s weapon. Not to worry, I assured him. They’re friendly.

They’re friggin’ pterodactyls, Charlie observed. He racked the charging handle of his machine gun.

Gagits, Michael replied. Not reptiles.

Put your gun down, I insisted. They’re friendly.

If you don’t mind, Charlie replied, I’ll be the judge of that.

The winged creatures banked above the tree line and skirted our heads to glide to a running landing in the clearing below us. Folding their wings, the two gagits turned to face us. The creatures shuffled their enormous armored feet toward me. One stopped a short distance away. The other stepped to me. The creature’s great beak opened and closed like a bellows. The gagit panted, exhibiting ridges of razor-sharp teeth. Nonetheless, I extended my hand, confident, to the creature’s maw. The gagit’s nose nuzzled my hand. Watch out, Michael cautioned.

I could see my reflection in the creature’s antediluvian black eyes. Instead of danger I sensed recognition radiating from those eyes. I rubbed the creature’s scaly face with my fingers. Panting turned to purring. You are Tecutli, are you not? I asked the creature. King of the underworld. I could almost see the creature smile.

Michael stepped to my side, his eyes wide as the beer can in his hand. He watched me pet the gagit. Are you crazy? he muttered, anxious.

These are Kay’s mounts, I explained. This is Tecutli, king of the underworld. I pointed to the second gagit. That is Cihuatl, queen of the underworld. This is how we get to Dluwulaxa.

She waits for you, master, I heard the creature speak. I know Michael heard the words as well. His jaw dropped to his feet, along with his beer can.

Another wave of primeval honking washed over the clearing. Four more gagits appeared in the sky to glide to a landing in the clearing. Mount up, boys and girls! I called out. We are off to Dluwulaxa.

Charlie strode down to join Michael and me, slinging his weapons over his shoulders. I was in the navy, damn you, he groused. Not the cavalry.

Tecutli nudged me with his massive beak. We must hurry, master. They are coming.

She Was Not Quite What

You Would Call Refined

Chapter One

Part One

Riding a redoubtable pterodactyl big as a giraffe into the sky never grows old, especially when the creature possesses the equipment to turn you into snack food. The pterodactyl, Tecutli, king of the underworld, banked to the south over Elliott Bay to ascend the Duwamish River. I rubbed the shaggy long black hair-covered neck of the gagit, the name in these parts for the winged creatures, with one hand while I grasped a clump of his hair with my other, bringing to mind my bare-back riding days during my college years in Idaho horse country. The behemoth craned his long neck to peer back at me, brilliant spring sunshine illuminating his eyes like burning coal embers. They are coming, master, the gagit repeated his warning. I struggled to hear the creature’s words over the slow steady beat of half a dozen pairs of enormous wings pounding the air like pile drivers.

Charlie called out to me from his mount. What the monster say? Charlie is the Charlie of Charlie’s Bird Store. Charlie’s Bird Store is the bird store at the market, Seattle-speak for the world-renowned Pike Place Market, where I first encountered the gorgeous cobalt blue-feathered hyacinth macaw parrot Princess Tara. The parrot who turned out to be a witch. With a coffee addiction. But you know that already.

Tecutli is a gagit! I yelled back at Charlie.

What? Charlie looked mighty uncomfortable, his lanky blue polyester tactical suit covered frame bouncing up and down on his gagit’s spindly neck. When he wasn’t yelling questions at me, Charlie seemed to be holding his breath, grasping clumps of the gagit’s hair between his legs with both hands, hanging on for dear life.

This is Tecutli, king of the underworld, I yelled back. These monsters. . . Tecutli craned his neck to peer back at me, again, his great beak pressed into a noticeable scowl, . . . these creatures are called gagits in northwest coast lore.

Charlie threw me a sideways glance, his wide eyes askance. They’re friggin’ flying lizards soon as eat you as look at you.

Do you know of any lizards with hair? Michael cried out from the next pterodactyl.

Huh? Charlie grunted, turning his head to glare at Michael, decked out in khakis and corduroys like he was on his way to teach a class.

Dr. Michael Bulgakov, Associate Professor of History at the U Dub’s, University of Washington’s, history department. My best friend not named Jean. Former office mate back in the day we both struggled to achieve tenure. They’re mammals, Michael explained.

Charlie shook his head. Lizard. Mammal. They still look to eat you, he insisted.

These monsters as you call them are our friends, Blue Tara called out, riding her mount Cihuatl, queen of the underworld, Tecutli’s mate. Treat them with the respect they are due. They may save your life.

Yes, ma’am, Charlie grudgingly replied, turning his eyes forward to admire the fir and cedar-shrouded scenery sliding below us.

I pivoted my torso astride Tecutli’s neck to admire Blue Tara. I don’t know how anyone could not admire Blue Tara. Her crystalline blue skin, capped by billowing black hair, glowed like a Rainier glacier in the unobstructed spring sun just beginning to descend toward the Olympic Mountains to our west. Blue Tara grasped a clump of Cihuatl’s hair with one hand. Her other hand grasped a battle axe strapped to a leather belt around her waist to keep the blade from bouncing against her thigh. I knew from experience Blue Tara knew how to use that battle axe. Mother of all the Taras. A shape-shifting witch. An Amazonian goddess, not in the rainforest sense but in the Jason and the Argonauts sense. Blue Tara had just one gleaming yellow eye, a vicious scar cutting across her face where her other eye should be. Because she tended not to wear clothes other than the leather belt around her waist for her battle axe, anyone could see Blue Tara had only one breast, the other severed in some ancient battle with a mortal enemy, leaving an ugly scar across her chest. Since strolling naked through the city of Seattle often elicited the wrong kind of attention, Blue Tara’s magic included the ability to manifest herself as an enormous hyacinth macaw parrot named Princess Tara, dressed in gorgeous cobalt blue feathers.

This day Blue Tara rode into potential battle fully dressed. I suppressed a laugh. I studied one improbable creature, Blue Tara, her glistening body shielded by paint-splattered carpenter pants, a Pendleton shirt, and a tin Filson guide jacket, the flaps of the coat fluttering in the wind. This improbable creature straddled the neck of another improbable creature. A winged behemoth, a gagit, what some would call a pterodactyl, antediluvian scales shielded by a coat of shaggy long black hair greasy like fur, billowing in the wind like a Palouse wheat field. Do not be so comfortable with your ride you fall off your mount, a woman’s voice laughed at me from a gagit trailing behind. I craned my neck to search for the voice. The voice belonged to Blue Tara’s younger sister Abigail, one day destined to be a Blue Tara like Blue Tara. A smile bright as her gleaming crystalline blue skin greeted me. Abigail appeared a spitting image of her older sister. Except anyone could see Abigail possessed two eyes and two breasts, not shielded by clothing nor scarred by battle. Abigail’s crystalline blue skin gleamed so bright in the unobstructed sunlight my eyes watered to look at her. Abigail grasped a sword of shimmering blue steel against her thigh, instead of a battle axe. A longbow draped across her back. Abigail also possessed the magic to manifest herself as a gorgeous cobalt blue-feathered hyacinth macaw parrot when not in the form of a naked crystalline blue-skinned Amazonian goddess.

My sister is correct, Blue Tara quipped. I turned my eyes back to her. Watch you hold onto your mount. You would suffer a hard fall if you slipped off the king of the underworld, my betrothed. A great grin broke across Blue Tara’s face. I would not wish to lose you so soon after our betrothment. Blue Tara burst out laughing so hard her mount Cihuatl craned her long neck to peer back at her in astonishment.

I could hear Charlie echo Blue Tara’s laughter. I could feel my face flush. Rather than dignify Blue Tara’s jibe with a response I turned my head to confirm we had not lost any of our complement of pterodactyls and riders. I found to my satisfaction the flock, or pteron, as Michael liked to call them. . . pandemonium of parrots, coven of crows, murder of ravens. . . intact. Circe trailed Abigail, her wide eyes, cobalt blue as Abigail’s skin, focused on the mountain, Seattle-speak for Mount Rainier, looming before us. Circe is a slight woman. Witch of magic, which is a sore point with her. She discovered she possessed the ability to turn people into critters or statues, and vice versa. She was none too happy about that discovery, thinking being a witch made her a freak of nature. A small white parrot with yellow highlights on her feathers, a cockatoo, rode Circe’s shoulder. White Tara. The Tara of healing. The hyacinth macaw parrot Abigail belongs to Circe. That’s complicated, I know. White Tara threw me a sly whistle upon spotting me eyeing her. White Tara manifested herself as a statuesque goddess with skin white as fresh Cascade powder snow capped with a crown of wild pink hair, draped in a plethora of silk skirts and scarfs bright as a rainbow to accentuate her sculpted body. In her goddess form, White Tara boasted not two, not three, not even four, but seven eyes. Three eyes on her forehead. Additional eyes on each hand and foot.

∆∆∆

Tecutli commenced to honk like the distilled call of a flock of Canadian geese, snapping my attention forward to the object of our journey. I almost fell off my mount in shock to find Mount Rainier soaring above us in gleaming glacial brilliance. I feared we might crash into the mountain. I couldn’t believe how quickly the gagits covered the sixty mile distance from Seattle. Wings outstretched, the gagits rode the currents of air rising up the side of the mountain to climb for the summit, targeting the lenticular cloud anchored to the mountain’s peak. Our destination. The home world of the bird people. The crystal city of Dluwulaxa.

The temperature plunged climbing the mountain. I pulled the zipper of my Eddie Bauer to my neck. My body shook, both from the chill and the anticipation of what, and who, I would find there.

∆∆∆

We ascended the Carbon Glacier so close to the ice I felt I could scoop up ice with my fingers. My teeth began to chatter from the cold. I regretted not wearing a heavier jacket. Ascending into the lenticular cloud capping the mountain’s peak I started to lose feeling in my fingers. I struggled to maintain a grasp of Tecutli’s hair. The moment I feared losing my grip and sliding off the pterodactyl to an icy doom we burst back into blazing sunshine. I found myself sweating, but I did not dare release my hold on Tecutli’s hair to try to unzip my jacket. Oh. . . My. . . God! I heard Charlie cry out.

I peered ahead. The great crystal wall of the crystal city of Dluwulaxa towered before us, disappearing from view into the sky. The crystal plain surrounding the city shimmered with every color of the rainbow from sunlight refracted through the crystal wall. Wings outstretched, the gagits noiselessly glided to a landing near the city. Goosebumps crawled up my back in response to the eerie silence that greeted us. An alarm bell buried deep within my brain commenced to tinkle. The gagits folded their great wings against their bodies. The Taras dismounted. I swung my leg off Tecutli’s neck like I dismounted from a horse. I dropped to the crystal surface. Charlie and Michael struggled off their mounts. Circe remained seated, White Tara perched on her shoulder.

∆∆∆

Charlie’s blue polyester tactical suit bathed in the iridescent light streaming through the crystal wall glowed bright as Blue Tara’s skin. Charlie placed his fingers against the wall. His eyes traced the wall into the sky. Tell me something, boss, he said, without turning his head.

Stop calling me ‘boss’ for chrissakes, I snapped. This ain’t the south.

Charlie turned to look at me, a toothy grin across his face. Sorry, boss. . . uh, son. Old habits die hard.

What do you want me to tell you?

Charlie bent his head back to stare up the wall toward the heavens. How is something like this even here?

I am sure Kay. . . Kinqalatlala. The black witch. One of the shape-shifting bird people of Dluwulaxa. The tlogwala, guardian of the tlogwe, the only magic in the universe capable of frightening the witch of death. The object of our journey to this remarkable place. A glum mood washed over me. I stared at my hands, the very hands that killed Kay. I shook my head trying to collect my thoughts. I am sure Kay can explain that to you better than I can.

We flew those friggin’ pterodactyls right over Boeing Field. . . Charlie waved his hand off to the north. At least where Boeing Field should have been. How come planes don’t crash into this place every day? Charlie threw his hands into the air in exasperation.

Blue Tara replied for me. This world exists in a different vortex of time. . . She waved toward the gagits. As do the winged creatures who brought us here.

Charlie replied with a low whistle of grudging acceptance of a reality he could not comprehend. He turned back to the wall. How do we get inside? Is there a magic incantation? Charlie took a step back, hands to his hips. Like ‘Open Sesame’?

This isn’t a fairy tale. . . I started to reply. My jaw fell to my chest. An opening appeared at the base of the wall.

∆∆∆

Oh. . . My. . . God! Circe exclaimed. She jumped off her gagit. Circe’s flaming red hair contrasted with her drab jeans, plaid Pendleton shirt, and dark canvas jacket. Circe strode to Charlie’s side. Blue Tara waved off the gagits. The pterodactyls turned away from us. Wings flapping, the gagits leaped into the sky to disappear into the fog bank roiling over the edge of the crystal plain.

What are you doing, woman? Charlie cried out. They’re getting away.

They will be safe, Blue Tara assured Charlie.

How did you do that? Michael asked.

Do what? Charlie and I responded.

Open the door.

I did that, a woman’s voice, familiar yet surprising, answered from the doorway.

Charlie spun to the voice. The fuck! he exclaimed. How did you get here? He pumped the shotgun in his hands.

I spun to the voice. Kali stood in the opening. High heels. Midnight blue wool business suit. The color of the suit matched her skin. Skin so dark the skin seemed to suck light out of the sky. I had trouble distinguishing the boundary between skin and fabric. Flaming red eyes the only part of her not dark. Untamed frizzled black hair billowed from her head. Always overdressing for the wrong occasions, I quipped.

Kali. Goddess of death. Or witch. Take your pick which word you prefer. Regent of Seattle, personally appointed by Dear Leader following the abolishment of civil governments across the country, tasked with suppressing the resistance centered around the coven of witches known as the Taras, led by Blue Tara. Kali’s enforcer, the black leather clad red-skinned witch Red Tara, the Tara of destruction, stood behind Kali, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear. A halo of smoke and flame seemed to waft off Red Tara’s radioactively red hair.

Kali stepped forward. Charlie pulled the trigger of his shotgun. He pumped the weapon. Charlie pulled the trigger again. And a third time. The slugs reached as far as Kali’s outstretched hand. And stopped to float in the air. Kali batted down each slug.

Kali’s hand flashed out to seize Charlie’s throat. The shotgun crashed to his feet. Kali lifted Charlie into the air. Charlie gasped for breath. His fingers scratched at Kali’s arms to try to break her grip. Charlie’s face turned ashen. His fingers slipped from Kali’s arms to fall limp to his sides. Enough! Kali screamed into Charlie’s face, loud enough to wake the dead. You are all of you beneath me! I am a goddess, you dull creature, and I shall not be bullied by. . .

Kali disappeared. Charlie’s body collapsed to the crystal plain. Kali’s midnight blue wool business suit collapsed in a heap onto Charlie’s body. What the fuck? Michael cried out, his voice matching his face in shock and surprise.

∆∆∆

I wanted to jump to Charlie’s side. My muscles refused to respond to my brain’s commands. Kali’s empty suit jacket commenced to spring up and fall down, as if covering a bouncing ball. Michael reached down to grasp a flap. He pulled the jacket open. A very animated toad sprung out to land at Circe’s feet. Circe lifted her foot. The toad commenced to croak. Circe smashed her boot on the toad. She lifted her foot to study the remains of the critter stuck to the sole of her boot. Puny goddess, Circe said matter of fact, a grin stretched across her face.

God damn, I remarked, my brain trying to process what my eyes showed me.

Guess she did not see that coming, Roxanne quipped. Roxanne stepped out of the opening in the crystal wall.

Circe scooped up Charlie’s shotgun. She pointed the barrel at Roxanne. I am guessing you can not stop bullets.

Roxanne grabbed the barrel to point the weapon into the sky. I am not here to hinder you. Please do not attempt to turn me into a toad. Unlike the witch of death, I am prepared for your magic.

Michael dropped to his knees at Charlie’s side. He flung Kali’s clothing off Charlie’s body. What the hell just happened? he asked, his eyes jumping from person to person, pleading for explanation. Michael pressed his fingers to Charlie’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He’s dead, he cried out.

The white cockatoo parrot, White Tara, the Tara of healing, flitted off Circe’s shoulder to alight on Michael’s. White Tara pressed her beak into Michael’s chin. You should know better than that, dear one, the parrot told Michael. Wings outstretched, White Tara jumped off Michael’s shoulder. Floating over Charlie’s body, she stretched up her head, beak gaping wide. A screech like a thunderclap burst into the sky, shaking the crystal wall of the city of Dluwulaxa. I fell to my knees, eyes squeezed shut,