Kirus

By Brian L. Willis

Elizabeth Bracken’s father, Ryan, is a researcher of phenomena and folklore for the United States government. Since her mother left them, Liz has enjoyed shadowing Ryan on his “Indiana Jones” adventures. But this time, Ryan’s journey is a simple search for the source of a bland, black stone at a remote lake in British Columbia and Liz starts college soon and must prepare for her upcoming ACT test.

Supporting his daughter’s decision to stay with relatives in Sitka, Alaska and study, Ryan omits telling Liz the stone is actually a rare diamond with mysterious qualities. The trip should only take a few days, and if he finds the jackpot, he’ll return for his beautiful sidekick and include her in revealing the greatest discovery of his career.

But Ryan doesn’t return … and his satellite phone quits working.

Surrounded by unfamiliar cousins and a thousand miles from home, Elizabeth is forced to reach for help beyond herself. In Kirus, shadows of the paranormal collide with truth as Liz uncovers the unbelievable. Does she have the courage to cross an unknown realm and face a cursed race to save her father?

In this religious thriller, a journey of exploration and treasure hunting lead the Bracken family to discover the reality of biblical ideals hidden in modern folklore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480878969

Brian L. Willis

Brian L Willis wrote his first novel, Airlis, to tell his story. Within a week of self-publishing on Amazon he awoke from a dream of Kirus and Xyros. Taking advice from Hamlet, he enters sleep more cautiously now, for one never knows “what dreams may come”. To learn more about the non-fiction version of Brian’s life, visit brianlwillisbooks.com.

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Copyright © 2019 Brian L. Willis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

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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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7897-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7898-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7896-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019909556

Archway Publishing rev. date: 08/14/2019

CONTENTS

Prologue

Explanation

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

Epilogue

About The Author

Edited by Irene Hunt

Cover Concept and Images provided by Brian L. Willis

Cover Design by Archway Publishing

Kirus is a fiction novel based on Christian ideals and beliefs. Though some characters are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, many of the concepts shared in this work do not represent official Church doctrine. For more information concerning this, visit: www.churchofjesuschrist.org.

All names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

To family—those who sacrifice most for the ones they love.

PROLOGUE

SHADOWS SCURRIED AWAY FROM THE FLICKERING torch light. The jagged cave walls gave them irregular substance, as if they were indeed the evil spirits some claimed to inhabit this dark mountain. A man with brown skin and long black hair eyed them nervously. His animal skin leggings were smeared with mud, and across his woven shirt hung a small leather pouch.

Adjusting the hunting spear in his right hand, he hesitantly continued forward. His skin-wrapped feet made no sound against the damp cave floor. Stepping carefully around a pile of fallen boulders, he glanced over his shoulder. The shadows prowled like starved wolves waiting for his light to burn out. Wiping the sweat from his dark-skinned brow, he fought the instinct to turn and drive them back and flee the cursed cave.

No, he thought and clenched his jaw. You must do this!

Old ones from the village warned about entering the black mountain, but Nass was driven by hunger that consumed fear and dulled caution. His strong wife, their precious daughter—the gods had blessed them with one elk and a handful of fish, but it was not enough food to survive the cold winter. He must find rock with veins of sunlight.

Swallowing hard, he turned and pushed deeper into the cave.

Stories shared around evening fires told how the gods brought the Tlingit people to this valley long ago. For generations, clear water flowed from the wooded mountains. Fish filled the rivers and lake near their village, and the trees, berries, and meadows brought life to the land. But this season, the south wind had not brought the heavy clouds of rain. Rivers dried up, fishing nets returned empty, and the herds moved on. The entire tribe ran short on winter supplies. In this desperate time, the gods finally seemed to hear their pleas for help.

When the moon last rose at mid-day Nass had watched anxiously with his Àa Tlein tribe as two canoes paddled slowly up the lake from the south. The vessels, larger than tribal canoes, pushed rolling waves as they cut across the smooth water. Aroused by a sharp warning cry, the village had gathered quickly. Now, men stood alert with weapons in hand and mothers clutched their children, silently watching the boats pull ashore.

Four white men sat in each canoe, two on either end, and stacked between them were mounds of cargo wrapped with tarp. The burly men silently unloaded weapons and cloth of fine woven patterns onto the beach, but those were ignored when they began to pile bundles of dried food.

Traders were not uncommon, but because of prior bad experiences, Chief Chaak approached cautiously. As he neared them, a big white man with thick, brown hair growing on his face stepped forward. Wáa sá iyatee, the man said in a gruff voice. The Tlingit phrase for How are you?, sounded broken coming from his mouth. The broad man tapped his chest and pointed to the pile of goods on the ground. We trade, he continued in their native tongue.

Chief Chaak studied him then replied, We have skins. No meat.

Good. The bear-like man nodded. Pulling a stone from a skin pouch, he held it up. Light sparkled off golden veins woven around it. We trade, he said again and handed the stone to Chief Chaak. The Chief rolled it curiously in his hands. Turning, the white man walked to a nearby creek, motioning for the tribal leader to follow. Crouching at the water’s edge, the trader mimicked digging through the river rock then pointed to the stone in the Chief’s hands. You find. We trade much.

Chief Chaak nodded solemnly.

The group of men with light-colored eyes exchanged a small amount of food for a stack of hides and began loading the remaining supplies back on the canoes. Turning from his work, Bear Man faced the Chief once more. We come, he spoke, gesturing south, down the lake and back to shore, and then glancing up, he pointed to the half-covered face of the moon. Chief Chaak gazed at the god of the night and nodded in understanding. The hairy white man tipped his head. Turning, he shoved the canoe away from shore and jumped in. The traders would return when the moon rose again mid-day.

For twenty suns the Àa Tlein Kwaàn was a frenzy of action. But when extreme efforts brought no results, most of the tribe gave up searching for the sun-touched stones.

Nass had watched stoically from this morning’s fire as the sun slowly pushed through thinning covers of darkness. Though he couldn’t see it yet, he knew a pale moon would not be far behind. The traders would return any day. Setting his jaw, he stood and reached for his traveling pouch. He must search harder, go where no one else had gone. Looking to the east, away from the lake, a towering peak rose above the trees. Cooled lava scarred its head, robbing it of all plant life. The old ones said it was cursed, but the stories were faded, and his need outweighed his fear.

Must you go?

Nass turned at the soft sound of his wife’s voice. She stood in the opening of the large plank house they shared with his family, her shoulders wrapped in an elk hide. Nass found it difficult to face those dark, penetrating eyes and looked back to the mountain.

Yes.

He shouldered his small animal-skin bag. Turning back, he stared at her without blinking. She nodded slightly and looked down. Stepping closer, he grabbed his spear leaning against the wall next to her, but before he could turn, she placed a warm hand on his chest.

May the gods protect you, she whispered, and with that he turned and headed for Black Mountain.

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His foot clipped a stone, and the grating noise echoed loudly. He paused and peered at the shadows. The wide cave held many dark cracks and holes that his light couldn’t reach. Nass could tell by the prints on the floor that he was not the only one to have explored these depths. He was familiar with bears, and as a fellow hunter, he’d learned to respect the mighty creatures. Trapping one inside its den was a sure way to die. Even though it was summer—and bears were normally out feeding—this did little to ease the gnawing fear in his gut.

Resetting his grip on the torch, he commanded his feet to keep moving.

By the time the flames burned down, his fear had diminished. The clawed prints on the floor hadn’t come this deep, so he scavenged the cave with less caution of his surroundings. Without being able to see the sun, it was impossible to know how long he’d been inside, so instead, Nass decided to search until his torch went out, then he’d feel his way back. When he came to diverting paths, he always went left to help keep his bearings. The walls silently crept closer as he traveled deeper into the mountain.

With only a dim glow coming from the dried moss, the tight passage came to an end. Taking out his last strip of aspen bark, he wrapped the torch and softly blew until the flames returned. As he was about to turn and head back, he paused and raised his torch. To his surprise, the back wall was beginning to crumble, leaving a small fist-sized hole near the floor. He felt the wall. It had been plastered smooth with a mixture of mud some tribes used to build homes. Grabbing an edge of the hole, he pulled back. A large stone dislodged from its weakened cement and fell to the floor. A few more tugs, and the opening was big enough to crawl through.

With images of his starving daughter driving him onward, Nass got down on his chest. Holding his torch in front of him, he carefully wormed his way through. Suddenly, the light no longer glowed closely around him. Halfway to a standing position, Nass froze, his muscles pulling tight.

The room was forty paces across and roughly circular in shape. At the height of a tree, sharpened stalactites the size of a man hung from the domed ceiling, mirrored by stalagmites jutting from the floor. It was the jaws of the mountain!

Kah-shu-goon-yah, protect me, Nass whispered in his Tlingit dialect. The silence seemed to steal his words as they left his throat. With unblinking eyes, he peered at the shifting shadows cast by his torchlight until his heart beats slowed. He took a tentative step, his eyes darting back and forth. The teeth didn’t collapse on him, and nothing attacked. He let out his breath. It was just some strange creation of the gods, he realized. Cautiously, he began to search the ground for the precious sun-touched stones.

Moving around the room with quiet steps, his gaze suddenly drew to an oddly out-of-place form. Tucked behind a thick stalagmite, on the right side of the room, stood a square boulder as tall as his knees. The edges seemed too exact, too intentional, to be formed naturally, as if someone had carved it like wood. Approaching hesitantly, he noticed a straight crack a few finger widths from the top, running parallel to the floor. Stepping around it, he paused. Two strange images—human-like figures locked in a fierce struggle—adorned the back of the stone. One warrior, carved from translucent material, wielded a staff and wore flowing robes. The other image was black as night. With one hand he held off the white warrior’s staff, and in the other he grasped a crude stone blade. Both images appeared to be pressed into the stone box even though that would’ve been impossible.

Nass reached out his hand. The figures felt hard to the touch—like stone, but the details were so exquisite he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have carved them.

Thinking they might be of value to the traders, he pulled his stone knife from its rawhide scabbard. Crouching, he tried to force his blade behind the white warrior. With a loud CRACK, the stone tip fell to the floor. Standing slowly, he thought, It’s much too large to carry, but perhaps with help? Tilting his head, he focused again on the strange crack around the top. Curious, he pressed his blade into the tight seam and twisted. The upper section moved.

It’s covering something, Nass realized. Replacing the chipped knife in its sheath, Nass placed his dimming torch carefully on the ground. Finding a slight lip on the front edge of the capstone, he gritted his teeth and heaved.

A harsh grating sound echoed throughout the room as the lid slid back. Nass jerked his head around, his body tensing like a deer ready to spring, sure the jaws of the mountain would clamp shut. Waiting motionlessly, it took twenty shallow breaths before his racing heart slowed once again. Turning back hesitantly, to his surprise the square stone was hollow. Grabbing his torch off the floor, he held it over the box and peered inside.

At first he thought it was empty, and then he noticed a small object on the bottom wrapped in dark cloth. Reaching down, he gently scooped it into his hand. At his touch, the material disintegrated and fell to the floor. The object inside felt hard and fit easily into one palm. With careful strokes he brushed away what remained of the shroud and stared in surprise. The only thing in the ancient box was a simple, black stone.

EXPLANATION

IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE UTTERLY CONFUSED BY HOW this adventure ends, I’ll need to take a second and explain a few things. My name is David Thorn, and this is not my story … even though I am partly responsible for how it begins. Sorry, that sounds confusing, but I promise it’ll make sense if you read to the end.

You see, I found a rock once, too, and it changed my life … forever.

Even though I haven’t lived that long yet, I know for certain that the Airlis was a stone God used to change my eternal destiny. Strange? Yeah, I know. It was hard for me to accept, too. Sadly, I didn’t realize how big a blessing it was until it was gone, but I digress. That’s a long story in a different book.

Since sharing my amazing experience in Airlis, I never dreamed I’d get pulled into another miraculous story of strange stones and life-changing miracles. You can imagine my shock when, shortly after finishing the rough draft of my first novel, this new story literally knocked on my front door.

As surprised as I was at who was standing on our welcome mat one-night last summer, my shock was nothing in comparison to how I felt when he told me what I’m about to tell you now.

It wasn’t coincidence—this story coming to me and me sharing it with you. After all I’ve experienced, I don’t believe in those anymore. There is always a reason—a purpose in a much grander plan that we, most of the time, are unable to comprehend.

You might be asking, Okay, so if it’s not a coincidence, then what does this story have to do with me? Well, that’s the very essence of what a miracle is. Reading something you don’t believe but hoping that it might be true. Only by taking that leap will you find it was more real than you could possibly have imagined.

I will tell you this much, though. Miracles do happen, and when they occur, they bring one of two consequences. When an unbelieving person is blessed with a miracle (or they read about one), they harden their hearts and close their minds, quickly brushing it off as luck or just another story. This literally stops the miracle from lifting that person somewhere higher—making of them something greater than they were before. But … if a person can find even the smallest reason to believe and then jump with faith? That’s when wings unfold and lift them to unfathomable heights of endless possibilities.

Leap with me. I promise you will not be disappointed.

David Thorn

1

Monday, 4 July, 2016

THE MUFFLED HUM OF THE SINGLE-ENGINE BUSH PLANE through a headset was a familiar sound to Ryan Bracken. He always loved the intimate feel of the smaller planes. A grin flashed across his tanned face reflecting a handsome, middle-aged man with short, dark-brown hair in the passenger side window of the cockpit. As much as he’d flown in the past, he could’ve had his own license by now, but he rarely stayed in the same place twice. His research had taken him all over the world. Gazing outside, it appeared as if, with minimal effort, he could reach down and touch the rugged mountains of Northern British Columbia.

So, what brings you to the middle of nowhere? the pilot asked through their connected intercoms.

Turning from the window, Ryan glanced at the thin man sitting relaxed with one hand resting casually on the steering yoke. Your typical Alaskan guide, he wore a long-sleeve camouflage shirt, light-brown pants, and a Seawolves hockey-team cap.

Oh, I’ve been to more remote places than this, Derrik. Ryan smiled.

Really? Derrik turned with his eyebrows raised above his dark sunglasses. What do you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?

It was inevitable that small confines would lead to things getting personal, but Ryan didn’t mind.

I work for the US government in a research department, Ryan said casually. It’s my job to find the truth behind folklore and fairytales. He couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he thought about how his daughter Elizabeth always introduced him as Indiana Jones. In many ways it was true. Inspired by a childhood hero, Ryan not only found a job that took him around the world searching for hidden wonders, he’d also gotten a wide-brimmed hat that now rested on his knee.

It was on one such adventure that his dark hair and handsome features caught the eye of a certain woman. His grin drooped. He first saw Michelle at a market place in a small village of Ecuador. Her black hair and blue eyes wouldn’t have been so out of place if not for her pale skin. Drawn by her beauty, he was surprised to find she was also American. She had come to study a small tribe for her thesis, and he was there searching for a fabled monolith with details concerning the location of El Dorado. Enthralled by each other’s passion for adventure, they fell easily into love. But, ironically, that common ground would also become the wedge that drove them apart.

Michelle leaving was the catastrophe that finally helped Ryan realize there were more important things in life than chasing the thrill. Ever since then, he’d taken Elizabeth nearly everywhere, and not having his precious, dark-haired navigator by his side felt wrong.

Fairytales, huh? Derrik’s voice brought Ryan back to the plane, and he looked up. Why would you research those? Derrik shook his head, already anticipating a ridiculous answer.

Ryan grinned. There it was—the same reaction he got from most people. But, oh, if they only knew a sliver of what he had discovered. Derrik, … you’d be surprised what truth is buried in some tall tales.

Derrik snorted. Yeah, let me guess. You can’t tell me because it’s top secret?

You can say that again. Ryan chuckled. Speaking of which, remember that thick contract you signed when I hired you?

Yeah, what about it? Derrik shifted in his seat.

If you didn’t catch it, part of that was a non-disclosure agreement. Just to warn you, if we happen to find something ‘they’ want to keep quiet, I’d suggest you don’t even tell your wife—if you’ve got one.

Derrik’s face paled. You’re not joking, are you?

Ryan shook his head solemnly. Then slapping Derrik on the shoulder, he said, Don’t worry, buddy. The upside of this is you might see something amazing.

Derrik didn’t laugh, and for some time he didn’t say anything at all. Ryan was content with the silence. He loved watching the untamed wilderness slide effortlessly beneath them. There was nothing but mountains and forest as far as he could see. He wondered how much of this raw land was still untouched by humans. It’d been an hour since they left Sitka, Alaska, and if his calculations were right, it shouldn’t be much longer until they saw a large lake on the horizon.

Clearing his throat, the middle-aged pilot braved another question. "If I’m already in this up to my neck—can you at least tell me what in the hell we’re doing?"

With a straight face, Ryan turned and said, Yeah, I probably could, but I might have to kill you later. The plane dipped slightly as Derrik’s knuckles turned white on the yoke. Ryan grinned wide and let out a hearty laugh. I’m kidding, man.

Derrik exhaled loudly, shaking his head. I’ve seen too many stupid movies, he chuckled.

Sorry, but I couldn’t resist. Ryan smiled as he grabbed a thin strip of leather tied around his neck. Fishing it out, a leather pouch the size of a golf ball appeared from beneath his shirt. They might sue your pants off, take your dog, and make it impossible to buy anything on credit for the rest of your life, but I’ve never heard of people disappearing for saying too much. Still … I don’t think it’d be worth the risk.

Derrik nodded in solemn agreement.

Carefully