Where Their Bones Lie

By Rei Rosenquist

A debate rages. It is between science and the earth. Between the west and the people of the land.

 

Bones were uncovered. Should they have remained buried? Do they belong to the university or the people's from which those bones grew? Are the remains the Kennewick Man or the Ancient One? Does the soul who once inhabited those bones even recall?

 

Only a journey through the fogs of time and the fires of research will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rei Rosenquist
• Release date: Aug 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201658267

Rei Rosenquist

Rei Rosenquist first remembers life as seen out the high window of a hotel balcony. Down below is a courtyard, swarms of brightly dressed tourists, the beach. The memory is nothing but a blue-green washed image. Warmth and sunlight. Here, they are three years old, and this is the beginning of a nomadic story-teller’s life. Over the years, they have traveled to many countries, engaged many peoples, picked up new habits, and learned new languages. But, some things never change. For them, these are stories, food service, and traveling. These three passions have bloomed from hobbies, studies, and jobs into a way of life. These days, Rei can be found in between Tokyo, Kailua, and Bellingham, Washington pouring beautiful latte art, baking off a batch of famous savory scones, and cozying up with a laptop to obsessively write mountains of dark speculative fiction. You can find Rei’s stories and blog at reirosenquist.com. You can also reach them via email at [e-mail] or connect via Facebook (Rei Rosenquist), Twitter (rylrosenquist) and Instagram (rylrosenquist).

Book preview

Where Their Bones Lie

Where Their Bones Lie

Rei Rosenquist

Weathered Ocean Feathered Sky Press

Contents

Before

After

Before Again

After Again

About the Author

Before

My name is Riverbank Wildwood, and I am lost.

I should know my way through these gently undulating green hills. I should recognize the spicy scented rows of red cedar trees. My toes should recognize these spongy hillsides and dewy damp boulders. Even with fog thick and white around me, I always easily find my way back home.

But, this time, something is wrong.

I cannot find my way.

I wander further into the fog. It wraps thicker around me, a wool blanket that numbs my senses. Fur in my ears, cotton up my nose, a skin pressed flat against my eyes. Everything in my mind screams out for stimulus. A whisper. A touch.

Anything.

For off in the distance, I see something.

A flicker of light, bright yellow against all this whiteness.

A lantern? Or better, the search torches of my people come looking for me. I move toward it eagerly. My feet sink deep into powdery snow. It clings and drags against my heels, begging me to stop. I take the advice of the snow and take pause.

What if that distant flicker is that of a stranger's fire?

They might think me a threat.

I reach up and feel the top of my head tentatively. My lava flow of black hair is completely undone. My face must be dirty and grey. I prod the sunken cheeks of my face with a finger, pat the mound of my distended belly, rub my chest and feel every single rib. More skeleton than living.

Yes, indeed. I look wild, starved, dangerous.

How long have I been lost?

I'm frightened to realize I don't have the slightest clue.

Any fellow better than no one at all, Elder Mother would say. Loneliness is death. Male and female, there must be. Male and female make the offspring. One alone