Transcending the Legacy

Venessa Kimball

Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

Novi, Michigan 48374

The right of Venessa Kimball to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Cover Design by SK Whiteside

Edited by

Elizabeth A. Lance

Copyright© 2014

All rights reserved

Published by

Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

Novi, Michigan 48374

- Etowah Mounds, Georgia 1830AD

Two strong, tan hands strike a rawhide drum in turn.

Bum…bum.

The natives move swiftly among their thatched huts, readying for the strike, the battle.

Bum…bum…bum.

Dressed in deerskin cloaks and battling spears, bows, and arrows in hand, the native warriors and uniformed soldiers begin to congregate in the village square to set up post.

Bum…bum…bum...bum.

Face painted red to resemble the warring time of his forefathers, a boy perches on the village palisade on the southern most edge. The splash in the river draws his chestnut eyes to the horses carrying the soldiers of evolution.

He turns, cups his hands around his mouth, and wails a warning to his people.

Bum..bum..bum..bum, tick.

The champion natives and those foreign that have joined their fight ready themselves to meet the challenge;
The legacy must be drawn before they are attacked
. Among them, white men with eyes the color of forests and blue skies. Pale skins etched with the markings of Creek warriors.

Bum..bum..bum..bum, tick, tick.

A white man, a soldier comes into the light from a darkened thatched hut with a native woman and girl. They run huddled together toward the tallest of the mounds that encircle their village.

Bum..bum..bum..bum, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Before the white man urges them to quickly move into the depths of the mound, he takes hold of the native woman and pulls her to him.

Bum..bum..bum..bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum.

Within the depths of the mound is a snaking passage that rises, falls, twists, and turns. The final rise is steep as the woman and girl climb higher and higher into the mound.

Bum..bum..bum..bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum…bum.

The woman and girl descend a wooden ladder into a hollow cavern. A man sits across from both of them, aged bronze leather skin with the markings of his battles on his cheekbones and forehead. Unruly and thinning white hair frames his face and timeworn copper eyes. He has kindled a fire within the pit beneath the opening of the hollow den. He beckons the woman and girl to join him around the fire pit. A shaman, he is a high priest.

Bum..bum..bum..bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum..bum.

The slow and steady hum echoing from the leathery hands beating the taut rawhide in the distance employs a faster, hypnotic pace now.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick.

The fire between the high priest and the woman and girl blazes blue and orange, dancing up toward the open air shaft. The blue glow of night seeps through the opening, meeting the fiery blaze.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick.

The shaman releases an ancient chant, filling the empty space between the measured percussions of the drum.

Bum...bum...bum...bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum...bum...bum...bum...bum.

The soldiers ascend the rocky rising plateau and climb the stone palisade, surpassing the indigenous barrier. One trooper stands out among them; he is their leader. He drives the soldier’s cadence passing the huts to the village center where they converge with the resistance, those bound to guard.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.

As the shaman continues crooning his exotic intonations, he draws up a primitive copper disc from around his neck. The woman walks around the fire to the high priest and without a word exchanged, he hands her the small amber disc. Carrying it back to the girl, shakily the woman holds it out to her and the girl takes the amber medallion in her open hand.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.

The attacking commander makes his move and his warring soldiers follow, pushing against the native resistance. The indigene, guardians, they do not back down, fighting for
everything
they have and hold dear.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.

The woman forces the girl’s palm closed around the amber disc before she steps away from the girl.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.

The shaman’s humming intensifies as the dialect demands an understanding beyond the native words; a promise of a potent legacy that must be carried on, carried out through this girl.

Bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum.

The young girl’s bronze skin glows from the flames that continue their dance within the pit. The rhythm of the drums swells to meet the high priest’s rousing incantation and the quickening ripple of the pyre.

Bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum.

Standing before the mounted soldiers and approaching commander, the white man descends the side of the highest mound and confronts him nose to nose. He hisses, “Take me. I will sacrifice my freedom for theirs.”

Bum, bum, tick, tick, tick, bum, bum.

The soldier sneers, “Your sacrifice is worth nothing to me. What we want is behind you.”

The commander shoves the white man, giving launch to the battle.

Bum, bum, tick
, tick, tick, bum, bum.

The native princess clutches the golden metal in one hand, spreads her arms wide, closes her eyes, and releases an amber blaze from her figure into the kiva. The essence she surrenders transcends to meet the ascending blue iridescent glow emanating from the small hatch above.

* * *

The monotonous lull of the aircraft engine ripens, silencing the thrum of the drumbeat and pulling my mind back from the vision I have had since I was a child. It has changed very little as far as the images, but the meaning has evolved as I have grown. The Copula, it was born from this vision. The magic of that medallion held in the hands of that beautiful princess as she surrendered her spirit, her vitality, to the ethereal. Daily I would fixate on the medallion, what it could be used for and how it could save those around it. Yes, it started out rudimentary...a child’s imagining mind. As I matured and the questions about my lineage were left unanswered by my parent’s, I sought out answers for myself, which led to my obsession of my ancestry and the discovery of an old rivalry; Jaeger Sanderson, father of Michael Sanderson.

To this day, I
wonder what sparked the provenance of the Copula’s design within me? Was it a divine vision sent and planted within me from beyond our world? The curiosity that stirred within me, was that divine as well. If it was sent from beyond our world, have I done the vision justice by creating the Copula? The traversing between worlds, the implantation into our mortal bodies, the conversion of our galaxy and another? Was all of it meant to occur, expected, anticipated? Is that why our bloodline carries these visions, because we are the keepers of our world?

The essence she surrenders transcends to meet the ascending blue iridescent glow emanating from the small hatch above.

Could the blue, iridescent glow be the three stars that Jesca has seen? The three stars that make up Orion’s belt. Another piece of this monstrous puzzle is trying to reveal itself through her. It has been loosely theorized that the Orion constellation could be a gateway to another time, another place. With the reality we have beset now in our world, our universe, I don’t doubt that there is a connection and it is no longer theory. There is a black hole within the Orion constellation just as there is one within the Andromeda constellation. The black hole within Andromeda is a dark and illusive universe. One that will starve, then steal the soul of every living thing. Having been beyond its veil, I know this. I can’t help but question,
Will the black hole within Orion be a luminous and absolute universe? One that is the complete opposite of Andromeda and will bestow salvation for our souls and humanity?

It must. The only question is what must Jesca do in order to usher in salvation.

With my eyes still closed as I think, a warm hand rests on my shoulder in the here and now startling me.