Solomon’S Seal: A Story of Chance Encounters and Unintended Consequences

By H. Valencia

To escape the troubles of their big city lives, Gisele and Beniah Panganiban decide as many had before them to seek refuge in the wilderness. Against the woman he often referred to as his wifes wishes, Beniah leases an enigmatic log house; that is situated deep in the forests of Manitoba, Canada. For two years, the couple wrestles with angels that seem to be as personal as they are professional. Then, in the middle of the night, they hear a knock on the big, red door. Handcuffed together, they hobble down the sixteen stairs. In the unforgiving winter, a stranger calls out. Ayuda me. My husband has been badly injured.... Por favor, I know youre in there. What follows is a fantastic journey that includes but is no way limited to gunplay, noble fables, pig genitalia, a fair amount of corruption, encieros, a love triangle, Samurai bonds, and of course Chim-Chim the Great Grey Owl. Some of them will learn what theyre good at, what theyre horrible at, what theyre psychotic about. And, at least, one of them is going to be buried out there. So, make yourself at home, mind the carpets, no cigars, and Welcome to Solomons Seal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781490769165

H. Valencia

This is H. Valencia’s seventh novel and his first attempt at Fiction Romance. With each effort, he seems to be getting closer to mastery. Since graduating from SJSU he’s been a consistent contributor to the arts. As an author, he searches the world for “Art...with a conscience.”. He then applies it to his natural gifts as an insightful linguist.  With the world as his palette, the result is a relevant voice that knows few bounds.

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SOLOMON’S SEAL

A Story of Chance Encounters and Unintended

Consequences

H. VALENCIA

©

Copyright 2016 Howard Valencia.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-6917-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-6916-5 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Trafford rev. 01/20/2016

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Contents

Part One

Chance Encounters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Part Two

Unintended Consequences

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

For those affected by the 2015 attacks on Paris, France.

PART ONE

Chance Encounters

CHAPTER ONE

There are those among us who seem to thrive in the presence of pressure; regrettably, Shane Styffe could never boast of being one of those individuals. When the engine failed, there was little he and his wife could do but find somewhere to set the light aircraft down. It was a mechanical failure that forced their emergency landing. By the time Shane regained consciousness he was pale and alone. The crash had left the silver-haired American pilot with no feeling from the waist down. It was numbingly clear; that there was no scenario in which the pilot would walk out of the dreaded northern wilderness. He tried to call for his wife but there was no response. The last thing he could remember – before blacking out – was their final radio transmission: Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. If anyone is receiving, this is Shane Styffe, call sign H-4219, a PA-28 with total engine failure – I repeat; complete engine failure – attempting forced landing. Last known position - I don’t know - a few miles over Manitoba; 1500 feet heading 200 degrees; PPL; 2 POB. This desperate call into the blind was immediately followed by the last words he said to his wife: I can’t believe this is happening. We’ve lost power. This is not good. We’re going to die. Most pilots never experience such an emergency in their lifetime.

Shane – eyes covered from the sun’s glare – peered out into the clearing. The pilot was lucky to find that clearing; as over half of the region was covered with forest and wooded areas. Shane had no alternative but to summon up as much determination as he could. His legs may have been paralyzed but his mind, if he could only manage to focus it properly, was intact. Confined to the cockpit he had, perhaps, too much time to think. His thoughts began to meander: If only, I had insisted on travelling by myself. Reena would not have…she would be safe at home. If only, I hadn’t let myself be talked into accepting another one of these assignments. We wouldn’t have to fly so dangerously – so low. If only I postponed the trip one day. I could’ve had the engine looked over.

Apart from sabotage, there are a few plausible reasons for engine failure. Given the circumstances, Shane’s working theory was engine failure due to carburetor icing. If he had been correct in his theory then, with a routine system check, the whole ordeal could’ve been avoided. Carburetor icing deprived the engine of air and, as is the case with humans, no air meant systemic failure.

There is a certain age when children begin to recognize their reflections as themselves. To observers – particularly the child’s parents – this stage is universally considered cute. While the well-rounded children power through that phase, there are those children who don’t quite make the turn. As these rather reluctant children become adults, it’s not as cute. Psychology even has a name for it: narcissism. The Jews have a name for it as well: chutzpah. Having said that; Shane wasted the next half hour swimming in a sea of his own self-pity: Everything that has ever went wrong in the - history of mankind - is my fault. How could I have possibly thought that this would not have repercussions? If only I had not been so careless with the truth. This is all my fault. She never should have agreed to remarry me. I ruined her life….

The pilot reached a point when he could no longer keep time with the violins playing in the back of his mind. He made a decision – a life or death decision, as it were. He decided to stop thinking unproductively; to find his wife; that, if given the opportunity, he would live an exemplary life. The only thing Shane Styffe had to do was not die.

He recalled the battle cry of Winston Churchill: If you’re going through hell keep going. The name was not too far from his mind because, on the map, he had eyed the Churchill River. With his mind on task he used a sort-of funnel method. He began with what he knew to be true. He had three gallons of fresh water, two flares, a first aid kit, basic tools, and a map. In addition, he believed the light aircraft itself could be used as a temporary reprieve. His aircraft was large enough to carry four. It was twenty-six feet in length, seven feet in height, with a wingspan: thirty-four feet by eight inches. These things he knew to be true. He was as certain of it as was certain the day was…what day was it? He couldn’t recall.

After taking a general inventory of the situation he concluded that what he needed was a doctor, a functional radio, and a rifle. Amongst all that was uncertain one question seemed to linger above all else. It was the one question that men have dreaded since the beginning of written history: Where, the hell, is my wife? Neither she nor their cargo were within an earshot of the crash site.

Not long after, Reena Nieto-Styffe returned to the crash site empty-handed. Although, the makeshift traps – she had spent the last hour setting up – were bound to result in a lovely barbecue squirrel or rabbit stew. The traps themselves were simple enough. She had attached her baits to sticks. She then used those sticks to prop up heavy things – like stones. Having served as a Civil Guard in El Ejercito Tierra, the one-time volunteer soldier wasn’t opposed to getting her hands dirty. In her youth, she had been thoroughly trained and reality tested. Her production in both the classroom and in the field were commendable.

Reena had explored the immediate area and was eager to report the sighting of old deer droppings, incoming clouds, and a promising river. The water was freezing cold so she suggested that some type of makeshift gondola would do them well. Having not eaten for some time la senora made her case to venture up river: We’re too far from water and too much in the wind. I found a deadfall, just beyond the tree line, she gestured towards the forest of pine, hemlock, and birch. A deadfall probably means there’s a shelter, somewhere, not too far off. If we leave immediately we might still have a chance to find shelter before dawn.

What the couple didn’t know, at the time, was that the Polar air masses brought cold air in from the Arctic Ocean. Consequently, the area they were occupying was host to the coldest winters of all of Canada.

You found a deadfall? Shane nearly scolded. He was eleven years older than his wife and had a tendency to grandstand. The mere thought of the deadfall raised an ominous red flag. If you found a deadfall then someone must’ve thought that there are bears in the area. Reena reminded her husband that bears hibernate in the winter; to which he retaliated: Not the bears that’ve gone completely lupid for the taste of Andalusian flesh.

She tilted her head and asked: What is ‘lupid’?

Manitoba, it should be noted, was one of the three Prairie Provinces of Canada. It was bordered by Ontario to the east and Saskatchewan to the west. The northern area was commonly referred to as the polar bear capital of the world.

What about the rucksack? he inquired. Is the cargo secure? Reena moved her head side-to-side like a windshield wiper to test his vision. Was her husband blind? She took the rucksack off her back. She dropped the precious cargo as though it were poison ivy. Shane reminded her: He always puts a tracker in there. When we fail to appear at the drop he’ll use it to clock us. With just a little patience he’ll come by and fly us the hell out of here.

How do we know it works? Reena asked. What if the tracker was destroyed in the crash? Your aircraft’s ELT [Emergency Locator Transmitter] hasn’t produced a single ping since we got here. She continued to play the devil’s advocate as she fashioned herself a walking stick from a large branch. We need to open the rucksack up and see if his tracker is doing what it’s supposed to be doing. If it’s broken – like everything else – we could be waiting for absolutely nothing.

That’s not going to happen, he implored with a sharp, Picasso-like glare. Shane stretched out his arm and grasped at the black rucksack. We can’t open it, Reena. I’m sorry but I can’t let you do that.

Permission to speak reasonably? Reena voiced sarcastically. In case you haven’t noticed, Shane, we’re in heavy distress. When she said his name it was as though she were poking him with her walking stick. The aircraft is damaged beyond repair and even if it could fly, Shane, we don’t have enough runway to take off.

You can forgive inaccuracies in dire circumstances. The dark, moist ground was not an ideal spot to land but, with the aircraft descending so rapidly and the fear of certain death, Shane had to pick his poison. Reena took possession of the rucksack as if to release its contents. I think we can call this the exception, she speculated. This is a desperate situation, no? Surely he would forgive us if we took a look inside, just to check on the tracker. Shane struggled to get up but collapsed back onto the chair like a man whose legs didn’t work. He understood his wife well enough to know that her tirade had little to do with checking on the condition of the tracker; that she simply wanted to know what was inside the bag.

It should be said, Shane Styffe was a superb pilot. He used his light aircraft, commercially, to ferry passengers. In addition, he had taken passengers out for sightseeing purposes and photography. At the time, the border between Canada and the United States was officially known as the International Boundary. It was 5,525 miles long, including the 1,538 miles between Canada and Alaska. It was the world’s longest unprotected border. On that particular trip both Shane and Reena had conducted a freight transport of the other-than-legal variety. It was not something either of them were proud of. Although, you’d be surprised by the extent to which people will go to continue living the life of Riley.

Are you out of your tree, Shane jabbed with a great deal of annoyance in his voice. He continued his plea for patience. Perhaps those were the words of a man, a bit past his prime, who wanted to cling to the familiar. "You know this man. He’s not the forgiving sort. He thinks he’s some kind of ninja. He specifically instructed that under no circumstances are we to open the cargo – ever, never-ever. If it’s that important to him then he’ll come for it. All we have to do is wait. He’ll come get us. I’m sure of it. Just as his wife was about to open the rucksack Shane revealed: It’s not like I’d be able to hike down to North Dakota, anyway, Reena. I can’t feel my legs."

She had not realized her husband was paralyzed. The new knowledge was enough to temporarily douse the flames of Reena’s curiosity. She set the rucksack aside and comforted her husband with one of their private jokes: "You know, you still owe me – big time. Twice, I saved you from marrying the right woman."

When the metaphorical fences were mended Reena said: You really believe he’ll come get us? Do you actually believe, for one minute, he’ll come all this way to rescue us? Best case scenario, he’ll come up here for his cargo then leave us to whatever’s in those woods. The soldier within her began to come to the forefront: That is, if the ninja doesn’t cut your pee-pee off, first. You and I both know the kind of man we’re dealing with. She rapidly tapped her walking stick. I can’t believe we let someone, like that, into our lives. When we don’t show up to the drop he’s going to assume the worse. You know this. All we are to him are a couple of mules. I don’t know about you but I don’t intend to die protecting his cargo and I’m certainly not going to rely on this ninja to square us away.

They came to terms with the possibility that the aircraft’s ELT was malfunctioning. When a commercial plane crashed, the Black Box was designed to automatically switch on and send a signal to help searchers find the crash site. Although ELT’s were reliable over eighty percent of the time there was always a possibility the system wouldn’t work for some reason. An emergency landing was as good enough of a reason as any.

Reena and Shane were intelligent people and what is human intelligence but the absorption of and reaction to facts? The fact was that they were both right. The perhaps too-clever entrepreneurs agreed that the consequence of opening the rucksack outweighed whatever curiosity they harbored about its contents. The fact was that if they opened it their lives, along with the life of their only daughter Mireya, would be in danger. Another unavoidable fact was the snow clouds were headed in their general direction. Whichever way they looked at it, if they had stayed put for too long they would freeze to death.

Thus, the twice-married couple did as they had done countless times in the past. They set their differences aside and acted as a single, coherent unit. The non-ambulatory pilot worked steadily at repairing his light aircraft’s radio. His distress call filled the cockpit: "Hello-hello. Is anyone receiving this? Over. This is Shane Styffe. I am one of two survivors of H-4219. Is anyone reading? Over. If anyone is there, we’re stranded