Their fingers met.
Mace felt cool, beautiful green energy flowing up his arm and, surprisingly, right into his heart. He hadn’t expected this kind of feeling from Ana. After all, she was evil personified.
“Do you see that sun birthmark? Here, on my neck?” she asked.
No question, she had the Tupay or Dark Forces symbol. “Yes, I see it.”
“It’s a symbol of ultimate evil.”
“What kind of evil?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to believe I’m evil. I don’t lie, cheat, steal or do things intentionally to hurt others.”
Out of the corner of his eye Mace studied Ana’s profile. He decided Ana had to be one of the best sorceresses he’d ever met, or she really was in pain. Impossible, Mace decided. He made a mental note to believe Ana not only knew who she was, but that she was consciously manipulating him until a time and place where she could kill him before he killed her.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsay McKenna is part Eastern Cherokee and has walked the path of her ancestors through her father’s training. Her “other” name is Ai Gvhdi Waya, Walks With Wolves. At age nine, Lindsay’s father began to teach her the “medicine” ways, or skills brought down through their family lineage. For nine years Lindsay remained in training. There was never a name given to what was handed down through her Wolf Clan family lines, but nowadays it is generally called shamanism. Having grown up in a Native American environment, Lindsay is close to Mother Earth and all her relations. She has taught interested people about the Natural World around the globe and on how to reconnect spiritually with the Earth. She is now infusing her books with her many years of experiences and metaphysical knowledge in hopes that readers will discover a newfound awe for the magic that is around us in our everyday reality. Paranormal was known as metaphysics in Lindsay’s family. She considers herself a metaphysician and her intent is to bring compassion and “heart” through her storytelling, for she believes the greatest healer of all is love.
Dear Reader,
I’m very excited about Dark Truth, Book Two of the WARRIORS FOR THE LIGHT mini-series! I love exploring mysticism (the paranormal) in all of its various expressions as a footpath or road within ourselves. Everyone, of course, has psychic talents. The Sixth Sense is there for a reason! And we possess wonderful, perhaps unknown, talents in this area of our makeup. What makes the WARRIORS FOR THE LIGHT different is that they utilise and hone their psychic skill(s) every day. I hope you take your own journey to discover what gifts you have.
One of the many fun things I can do as a writer is share what I know about the “real” world and put it into a fictional format. Stories are teachers. In my Native American tradition, I can remember my father telling us a story nearly every night before bedtime. They were stories with a beginning, middle and end. And, most important, the story was instructive about how to behave as a human being who has strong morals and values, who knows right from wrong, and who walks with compassion on Mother Earth and is of service to others. These stories were powerful and often changed me and my thinking. So we can never pooh-pooh a book, because each one has a life and a heart of its own. I hope in some small, positive way my stories touch you in a similar fashion.
Please let me know how Dark Truth touches you! Find me at www.lindsaymckenna.com or at my blog, www.talesfromechocanyon.blogspot.com. I always love to hear from you and find out what’s on your mind and in your heart.
Happy reading!
Lindsay McKenna
Dark Truth
LINDSAY McKENNA
www.millsandboon.co.uk
All you WARRIORS FOR THE LIGHT
readers out there who make a difference in
bringing peace, first, within yourselves, and as
a result of that you automatically radiate peace
throughout our war-torn world. Keep on
truckin’…you’re doing a fine job!
And to
Dan Millman, Peaceful Warrior, who said,
“Process transforms any journey into a series of
small steps, taken one by one, to reach any goal.
Process transcends time, teaches patience, rests
on a solid foundation of careful preparation and
embodies trust in our unfolding potential.” The
Laws of Spirit. Thank you for being who you are
and leading the way from your heart.
And to
Yolande Grille, shamanic facilitator,
homoeopath and friend. Thank you from the
bottom of my heart for your compassion,
wisdom and support. No one could ask for a
better companion than you with whom to go
through a “dark night of the soul” episode.
The Legend of the Warriors for the Light
Mystics of the Incan Empire saw the end coming, and created the Emerald Key necklace to help battle the Tupay, or Dark Forces on the planet. The seven emerald spheres that composed the necklace were then scattered around the world, until the prophesied “end of time as we know it” period should begin. That time is now.
The Taqe, or Warriors for the Light, must find the seven spheres before the Tupay do. They must recreate the necklace and wear it if they are to help stave off the thousand years of darkness now taking hold on the planet. It is a life-or-death battle.
Three couples, destined to play major roles in finding the first three spheres, must meet and create the Vesica Piscis Foundation. The center they establish will be a place where all who wear this symbol—usually as a birthmark on the back of their neck—can come to be educated, to serve and to fight for a thousand years of peace.
Each sphere is inscribed with a special word from an ancient language—one of the Seven Virtues of Peace. The first sphere, discovered in Unforgiven, was forgiveness. Now, the next sphere will be sought. What will be inscribed upon it? Puzzle pieces in a great cosmic scheme, segments of the Emerald Key necklace are up for grabs. Who will discover the next sphere? Will the world be plunged into darkness or lifted into light?
Prologue
Ana Elena Rafael’s heart thudded heavily in her breast. She was surrounded by fog so thick she almost felt as if cotton balls were pressing against her, humid and clammy. Because she had no idea where she was, anxiety coursed through her. Looking down at her feet, Ana saw she stood on ground covered in rotting brown, yellow and orange leaves, with bare and twisted roots exposed here and there.
“Help me! I’m lost!” she yelled, then jerkily spun around. Her voice seemed to be absorbed instantly by that wall of white moving sluggishly about her. Her call for help went unanswered.
Cupping her hands to her mouth, her panic growing, Ana shouted even more loudly, “Help! Help me!” It wasn’t like her to cry out for rescue, or even ask for it. No, she knew better. As an orphan, Ana had learned early on to take care of herself, because no help was coming.
Swallowing hard, she felt as if her heart was about to leap out of her chest, and she wrestled with the anxiety flooding through her.
A wildlife biologist, she found herself thinking of her beloved jaguars as she sought an answer to her present dilemma. Jaguars hunted with their ears. Noise. Sounds. Yes, that was it. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Ana waited until the loud drumming of her heart eased. Closing her eyes, she made herself be patient, and waited.
Quietness descended upon her. Calmness replaced her stress. Her anxiety dissipated as bands of fog continued to move around her. Focusing her ears, Ana heard for the first time the distinct bubbling and gurgling of water. Where was she?
A jaguar would never panic, she sternly told herself. She’d spent years watching and studying them in the jungles of Belize. Jaguars were the animals she most strongly i
dentified with. The mighty cats had helped her live with the fact that she was orphaned. Whether they knew it or not, jaguars had healed her.
“Welcome, child.”
Eyes snapping open, Ana gasped. Somehow, the fog had suddenly disappeared in those few moments she’d had her eyes closed. In front of her, standing on a wooden bridge that spanned a small creek, was a tall, thin woman with silvery-white hair that hung in braids. The look in the woman’s green eyes soothed Ana. Her full mouth held a gentle smile that told her this was someone familiar, someone who knew her.
The old woman was dressed in a long turquoise robe, with a dark blue shawl around her shoulders. Her oval face had high cheekbones; her thin hands were long and graceful looking. The sturdy leather sandals she wore suggested that she worked in the fields.
“I… Who are you?” Ana asked.
The woman’s smile widened. “You called for me. My name is Grandmother Alaria. And you are Ana Elena Rafael. Welcome home, my child. We’ve been waiting a long time to see you.”
As the fog continued to dissipate, Ana looked around. On the other side of the wooden bridge a village of thatch-roofed huts appeared. She could see many people in simple farming garb wandering about.
But then Alaria’s words registered. Ana gazed intently at the older women, who now stood in front of her. “Home? What are you talking about? I’ve never been here before. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.” Ana wished she did. A wonderful warmth and maternal quality radiated from the woman, seeming to envelope Ana, much as a mother might embrace a beloved child.
Wishful thinking, of course. As she tried to shake off the nurturing feeling, Ana realized she didn’t really want to.
Nodding, Alaria lifted her hand. “You will know all in good time, child. Come, walk with me. Welcome to the Village of the Clouds….”
It seemed so natural for Ana to reach out and clasp the old woman’s frail-looking fingers. To her surprise, her grip was warm, firm and strong despite her obvious age. Grandmother Alaria seemed incredibly resilient with that ruddy glow in her cheeks, that merry twinkle in her large eyes. Ana tried to guess the elder’s age and decided she had to be in her eighties. Alaria’s silver hair was streaked with shades of gray, as well as coppery strands that hinted she’d once had red hair. The braids were not unbecoming, and gave her the aura of a wise sage from a bygone time. Ana imagined the woman must look like a druid from Britain. Perhaps some powerful priestess, because of her air of quiet authority.
Leading Ana across the bridge, Alaria said, “Does it not feel good here to you, Ana? You have the instincts of your beloved jaguars. How does it seem to you?”
Ana purposely matched her stride to the elder’s. “I feel very much at peace now that I know I’m not lost.”
The wooden, well-worn bridge was very old and gray with age. The surrounding jungle fell away to reveal many thatched huts in the industrious village. Ana saw men and women of all skin colors, ages and races there. Some carried farm implements—a hoe, a rake, a shovel.
A number of iron cooking pots hung from tripods throughout the village. Women and children tended fires beneath them, and the air was fragrant with a scent like roasting nuts. Ana recognized it as quinoa, one of the most high-protein grains in the world.
Bright yellow-and-blue parrots flew in and landed on gnarled trees at the other end of the bridge. The village, carved out of the jungle, stood on a flat expanse of hard-packed earth. Beyond, farm fields extended as far as Ana could see. The crops, carefully tended in neat, weeded rows, stopped at the foothills of what she recognized to be the mighty Andes. From there, dark purple and sheer gray granite slopes swept upward toward jagged, snow-capped peaks. It was a beautiful sight.
Ana stepped off the bridge and released Alaria’s warm, comforting hand. Turning, she glanced back to where they’d come from. The fog was in place once again—a thick, impenetrable barrier stopping outsiders from ever finding this incredibly peaceful village. Stymied, Ana shook her head.
“It is our protection, child,” the older woman murmured. “Only those who are supposed to find us do. If you are meant to come here, the fog will disappear to reveal this bridge. And once you walk across it, to our village, the fog once more provides a blanket of protection, for all who come here to live and study.”
Alaria had read her mind. Ana compressed her lips, not sure she felt comfortable with the knowledge. Once again, she appraised this old woman with the look of the ancients in her eyes. Around her throat lay a gold necklace that somehow seemed familiar to Ana, though she couldn’t place it. The design was of the pendant was of two interlocking circles. Why was she drawn to the symbol?
“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
Ana tensed. “Are you going to read my mind and find out?”
Alaria chuckled. “No, child. On most occasions, we don’t barge into other people’s thoughts without their permission.”
“You did just now.” Shaking her head, she gave Ana a look of good humor. “The question was written all over your face. It was easy for me to see as you glanced back across the bridge at the fog.” Alaria beckoned her toward a stand of tall, thick-trunked trees at the edge of the village, and the wooden bench beneath them. “In fact, one of the questions first-time visitors always have is about the fog and why it is there.”
Feeling embarrassed, Ana again fell in step with the elder. “I’m sorry. I assumed you were reading my mind.”
Alaria smiled enigmatically. “You were fortunate to be adopted by two very loving people when you were quite young. They protected you and gave you a place to feel safe. Before that, your life was always in jeopardy.”
Ana halted briefly at her words, then hurried to catch up. “How can you know that about me?”
“Oh, I know much about you, child. Here, come and sit down.”
The sun was barely peeking above the jungle canopy around the village, sending slanting fingers of light into the clearing. The bench where Ana sat was a deep, rich brown, the wood worn smooth with age. She watched as Alaria took a thin, crooked stick and began to draw in the sand in front of them.
“You see, child, people of all races, belief systems, colors, genders and ages come here to study with us.” Alaria settled on the bench, then looked at Ana, who rested her elbows on her thighs.
“To study what?”
The woman smiled gently. “They come to study about life in its fullest expression. Look at this….” She pointed to the circle she’d drawn in the sand. “Now, tell me about this symbol. What does it remind you of?”
Ana laughed shortly. “It’s a circle, of course.”
“Very good. What else?”
Raising her brows, Ana said, “It’s round. It’s whole.”
“Excellent. And how would you equate that circle to a human being? You see, symbols are a language. And not just a silent one.” Alaria tapped her stick beside the circle she’d drawn. “You need to understand that this has energy. As soon as I drew it in the sand here before us, it began to emanate a signal, or frequency, just as surely as I’d turned the dial on a radio and tuned in a particular station.”
Sitting up, Ana said, “Oh, that’s fascinating. I didn’t know that.”
“Symbols are living beings.” Alaria kept pointing to the circle at their feet. “In fact, before humans spoke languages, they used symbols. Every symbol a human devised could be interpreted.” She smiled briefly. “Over time, as verbal skills were acquired, the information and knowledge of the symbols—our old, first language—was forgotten and cast aside.”
“So,” Ana said, struggling to grasp the surprising information, “symbols were our first language here on earth?”
Alaria nodded. “You could say that. And that’s an excellent connection you’ve made.”
The praise warmed Ana. The air was cool without being chilly. She heard howler monkeys screeching, welcoming the rising sun. The sky was pale blue, with streaks of fog moving across it like elusive ballet dancers. Around her, she saw pe
ople with wooden bowls standing in line at the cooking pots. The children and women serving breakfast were spooning in some type of cereal.
Returning her attention to Alaria, Ana whispered, “You’re right. There’s something about your village that feels like…home. I can’t explain it.”
Patting her hand, Alaria said, “The longer you stay here, the more it will feel that way. Let’s get back to the circle I’ve drawn here, Ana. There are some important things I must show you before it’s time for you to leave.”
Just the thought of leaving filled Ana with sudden, unexplained despair. Alaria’s nurturing energy continued to reach out and enclose her in a wonderful, maternal way. And like the hungry jaguar Ana often imagined herself to be, she felt like a thief lapping up that warmth and care. She couldn’t help it. She knew there was a huge hole in her heart because she’d been abandoned at birth. Oh, she had no memory of being left behind. No memory of anything until, at four years of age, she’d been brought by a farmer from a small town in Peru to a Catholic orphanage in Cuzco, one of the major cities in that country.
“A circle is about containment,” Alaria started, breaking into Ana’s thoughts. “Do you know what psychiatrists say about that?”
“That would be our ego, wouldn’t it?”
With a pleased smile, Alaria said, “You are very astute. Yes. What have you been told about the ego?”
Shrugging, Ana said, “I took a couple of classes in psychology at university when I was getting my degree in biology. Ego is necessary. It’s the container that holds our personality. And if your ego is weak, then you have weak boundaries and may have low self-esteem or, even worse, very little self-identity.”
“Excellent,” Alaria said, holding Ana’s gaze. “However, a healthy ego is not a circle.”
“Oh?”
“It is a U-shape. A cup.” Alaria stood up and drew a curving line in the dust, next to the circle. “A healthy ego allows the give and take of energy, a sharing of our feelings with others.” She tapped the circle. “Those who have an unhealthy ego are self-contained. They can’t receive and send. All they can do is take. So people with a circular ego are narcissistic and self-serving. They are greedy beggars of a sort, absorbing other people’s care, concern, and feelings and hoarding it within themselves.”
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