Earthen Windsongs Call

By Frank Talaber

Based on a true incident that happened in Haida Gwaii (formally the Queen
Charlotte Islands) off the western coast of British Columbia. A man, Grant
Hadwin, cut down a very rare Golden Spruce to protest against logging. The Haida believe there is a prince trapped inside the tree and that is why the leaves have turned gold in sorrow for this prince.
This is his journey after awakening.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Talaber
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781738658305

Frank Talaber

Author Biography –A natural storyteller, whose compelling thoughts are freed from the depths of the heart and the subconscious before being poured onto the page.Literature written beyond the realms of genre he is known to grab readers; kicking, screaming, laughing or crying and drag them into his novels.Or as he has often said: Write like your soul is on fire and the pencil is your voice screaming.You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.Writer by Soul.Canada's Foremost Offbeat AuthorEnter the literary worlds of Frank Talaber.My newest Author interview: https://youtu.be/OM3yVBThhYoMy Newest Reviews:Ainsworth Chronicles, Book Two: The Mystery Of Ms. TeakI hate you, I can't put this book down. Every page gets more interesting, suspicious, wondering what is going to happen next. I sit down to only read one more chapter but end up having to read two more, because I need to know what happened in the past. Each chapter keeps you wanting more and now I hate it even more since I can’t get to it before Long weekend coming up. I just read the last six chapters, clinging to every word, every sentence thinking I know what is going to happen next. Oh no, you take me in a completely different direction. Great book.Sandy StrebeStillwaters Runs Deep, Book Two: The LureA spooky beginning drew me in, making me feel part of a scary, 3:00 am crime scene. It turns even more surreal when Charlie, an Indian shaman, appears out of the fog like a bad hallucination. I am of the Seneca-Cayuga and Cherokee tribes, and I'm intrigued by the use of the beliefs and legends of the Canadian tribes to carry forward the characters' actions. The plot has many timelines: Carol, the head detective, has to solve several murder cases: with many twists and turns. There's Shamans, Animal Spirits, and "The Lure" thrown in for good measure. No wonder, Carol wanted to resign! I laughed out loud when Charlie admonished his fellow shamans with a knock-knock joke since it was so unexpected. Yes, this novel is a roller-coaster ride, with the Author cleverly hinting along the way, ending with a roller coaster ride! Read this book. It is different. It's as if Elmore Leonard has risen as a shaman, to guide others to write about Indian lore. This one's a keeper.Nancy BridgemanThe Joining, by Frank Talaber, is a captivating read, set in surroundings that all who have visited Victoria, B.C. Canada can identify with. My visits there will never be the same as my imagination revisits the colorful characters and settings/places portrayed so vividly within this book. A great read!GailStrong of fibre with an elegantly polished finish. Introducing Ms. Teak, the mysterious octogenarian with the double entendre stage name. Discover her hidden past and her penchant for present day danger in this latest chapter chronicling the adventures of Detective Carol Ainsworth. Together they confront Lekwungen, Woden and the Russian Mafia with a little help from a winged protector who "Flies with Butterflies".Fasten your seatbelt as Frank Talaber takes you on a multi-dimensional trek through time where history comes alive to reveal buried secrets and tortured souls. From the stately tea salons of old Victoria to the haunting desolation of British Columbia's rugged West coast waters, The Mystery of Ms. Teak will both entertain and invite you to confront the demons that live within us all.Michael deJongDo not read this book! Seriously, do not read this book - unless you are prepared to deal with a rift on your personal timeline. You will find that this book causes you to postpone activities that you would otherwise be doing.You will be transported into a world of history and mystery, crime and grime, Spirits and other worldly time travel, with the delectable Detective Carol Ainsworth.An amazing tale, which I thoroughly enjoyed.Paddy KopieczekI hate You! My wife who is off on medical leave, won't get out of the bathroom. Can't put your book down. LOL. Bruce W.Just when I was beginning to wonder where the next great Canadian story teller would emerge from, Frank Talaber has written a modern crime mystery with a twist. In “Thunderbird’s Wake” Talaber weaves the richness of Canada’s west coast aboriginal spirituality into the science of modern forensics. CSI comes to Haida Gwaii as the shaman and the detective conduct an investigation that will take them and the reader on a journey to a place where murder, redemption and ancient mysticism intersect.Michael G de Jong, QCMinister of Finance, Government House Leader,Province of British Columbia

Book preview

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Earthen Windsongs Call

Earthen Windsongs’ Call

Based on a true incident that happened in Haida Gwaii (formally the Queen

Charlotte Islands) off the western coast of British Columbia. A man, Grant

Hadwin, cut down a very rare Golden Spruce to protest against logging. The Haida believe there is a prince trapped inside the tree and that is why the leaves have turned gold in sorrow for this prince.

This is his journey after awakening.

Thick sap oozed from the Golden Spruce, congealing like blood. The death chant of Gordon Chatwick’s axe shuddered through the tall tree. Amidst this forest of varying shades of green, the Golden Spruce was unique. A precious jewel to the natives with oral stories of a prince trapped with, while its needles of gold were viewed as a hybrid to the scientists.

The axe bit one last time, cutting past the cambium membrane. Gordon paused to swipe at the sweat burning his eyes. The chainsaw done the bulk of the hard part, his axe would finish it off. There was only an hour of darkness left before the chance any tourists would arrive and discover what he’d done. But before that, the winds would pick up and send the ancient Golden Spruce crashing to the earth. His opposition to the continued raping of the planet’s resources would soon be complete.

Overhead, the tree groaned under its own weight, protesting its demise. Sap flowed down its gouged sides, sticking to Gordon’s boot as he moved. Damn, this goop is everywhere. Never seen a tree bleed this much. Then again, I’ve never cut a Golden Spruce. Good. This will get their attention.

Gordon pinned the note he’d scribbled to the base of the trunk.

The handle of the axe stuck to his fingers as he gathered his knapsack.

Every step was hampered by the gummy sap sucking at his feet.

I got this stuff all over me. Better burn my clothes back at camp. The public will not let this damage go unnoticed. The fight to save the forests continues.

The Golden Spruce cried out in agony. Haunting, piercing screams of an ancient being having its existence ended splayed the air. Splintering cracks echoed as the wind increased.

Gordon swallowed hard, the iron taste of fear clinging to his mouth. A former logger, he’d cut down many trees in his day, but this was more like murdering a living being. Oh God, I’ve killed something beautiful. He rushed to its aid, trying to support the groaning trunk.

Muscles strained, tears streaked the sweat on his cheeks. It is alive? What have I done?

As mournful cries rang out into the echoing forest around them.

With his hands covered in warm sap, and the winds picking up, it was too late for remorse. I’m so sorry. He retreated to the bank of the Yakoun River, where his kayak waited to whisk him to the ocean waters of Masset Inlet as he heard the death kneel of the ancient being and a loud thud echoed throughout the forest.

In the vanishing darkness, the sap was congealing into two body-shaped pools. Solidifying and expanding like bread dough, filling with more substance than the sap itself could ever provide. The fresh aroma of spruce spread thickly across the glade, mingling with other smells that didn’t belong. Putrid, nauseating odors of animals decayed during eras forgotten in the vaults of time.

Shapes began to emerge in that soupy muck. One was taking the lines of a human, a young male. The other was leaner, more avian. Feathers adorned this one’s body. Long black feathers.

As if the spruce tree sensed its demise, it secreted more sap from its wounds. Time, to a species whose lifespan was measured in seasons and annual growth rings, now became fleeting seconds. The