Echoing Time: Book I of the Woohox Chronicles

Echoing Time: Book I of the Woohox Chronicles

by Michelle Stojic


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Echoing Time is part of a chronology of stories initiated by the miscreant Trillem Pax Kenroo and his search for universal intergalactic domination. However, he is thwarted early on by providence and the stalwart nature of a young Arapaho girl named Marin Wanderhorse. Marin is kidnapped by the ghostly spectre of Kenroo, whose mission was to gain corporeal form and rule the earth. Marin successfully hinders his efforts throughout history, returning his abominations to the normal flow of history as written. Eventually, Marin is successful in returning Kenroo toward his destined path of redemption, but she is lost in the paradox of quantum string and multidimensional travel.

Her parents don’t give up on finding her and, with the help a discredited quantum physicist and a hippie commune in the Sonora region of Arizona, discover and capture a quantum string. Eventually, they are able to use the string to travel between realities, stopping an international arms deal, returning lost art, taken by the Nazis to Jewish families and returning the antagonist, Kenroo, to his prescribed destiny.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781524511593
Publisher: Xlibris Corporation
Publication date: 08/29/2016
Pages: 454
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.13(d)

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Trillem Kenroo was a foundling. His home planet and people exiled him after a sullen tantrum of greed, power, and lust, which resulted in the near annihilation of the planet. The council of the protectors decided unanimously that due to his age, and lack of beneficial parenting, he should be given the chance of redemption. He was cast adrift in his life pod just fifteen rotations after his birth. They could not interfere until his recreation was complete and he was placed with a family who would love and cherish him, allowing him to develop into the leader he was sorely destined to become.

His life pod was self-sufficient. He would have lived out his natural life without affiliations, without company, to atone for the sins of his spirit. It was the hope and belief of Trillem's people that in his next recreation Trillem would have learnt his life lesson and returned to them a better, more productive individual. There was no way of foreseeing this future; no way to warn the humans who found him of his true nature.

The capsule that transported this greedy, self-entitled yelp was destined to emerge through the time space continuum on a planet void of any cognizant life-forms. Unfortunately, it careened off a passing asteroid, damaging a rear thruster, forcing a landing in the desert on the third rock from a sun in the Orion arm of the Milky Way. The capsule, partially burnt on re-entry, burrowed itself into the soft sand of the Sonora Desert. The remaining life pod all but crumbled as it crashed into the yielding sand, near the ruins of the lost Sonoran civilization. Kenroo Trillem had survived, only to be abandoned once again.

— Signals —

Man, in fact, all species of life seemed to be in conflict with this otherwise peaceful planet. The recent storms and geographical changes that resulted from water and wind or lack thereof were massive. Fire-ravaged areas were visible from space as much-needed rain deluged storm-soaked flood zones. Seismic shifts invoked tsunami and volcanic eruptions. Populations were disseminated either through waring fractions, natural disasters, or mere indifference. Life went on. Cosmic abnormalities were a meager blip on news forecasts, unless it accompanied a monumental land disturbance. The landing of Trillem's capsule went largely unnoticed. Observatories noted a meteor in sync with the planet's orbit. When it disappeared and crashed in the Sonora Desert of Arizona/New Mexico, no one took notice — not even the alien hunters that annually converged on Area 51.

And so the Weyen fey continued their Shiva. Seven sat in deep prayer as two of the nine rotated between, allowing comfort and food breaks as needed. Trillem Pax Kenroo's grandmother was not allowed to take part in these proceedings. She was to act as gatherer, gleaning needed items as requested by the circulating two. It was her penance to serve. And wait.

Planet-side universities, whose staff of academics were convinced that natural disaster spawned societal disintegration, sent small groups of archeologists and naturalists into the various deserts of the world. Most renown was the dig site at Sonora. As hopeful PhD candidates strove for their papers' recognition, many offered their time and expertise to dig at the various sites in the Arizona/New Mexico desert. The atomic bomb testing during the 1940s created a wellspring for anthropologists, naturalists, and physicists alike. The abundance of iron oxide created a mystic allure for those in search of spiritual guidance. And true to form, the desert was resplendent in artifacts, which either bolstered or disclaimed every paper written.

Mark Wanderhorse headed the cultural paleontology department at Arizona State University. His current thesis dealt with changing weather patterns and the emergence or disappearance of ancient civilizations. He had been part of a find in Xinjiang province in China that predated the Neolithic period. It was there that he met Miles Jakison, an archeologist from Finland, who was writing a proposal on weather and its effect on mummification. The Tarim mummies lead to many fascinating discussions on weather, climate, and the advance and decline of civilizations along the trading routes of nomadic people.

Mark's study of fossilized plant life provided him with the input to conjecture that severe weather changes occurring in a short period of time lead to the fall of the dominant civilizations. The intense shifts from extreme hot to frigid cold with accompanying fires and floods caused massive shifts in the population's didactic. Advanced civilizations were cast back thousands of years, losing much, if not all, of the gains made by the indigenous people. Of course, this was just conjecture. He had to prove similar findings on a global scale in order to be taken seriously. The science community did not condone conjecture presented as fact. One needed hard, empirical evidence. However, for Mark, that evidence was slow in coming. Luckily for him Windsong Mourning Dove shared his exuberance.

Mark and Windsong were part of the Arapaho tribe. Both had been recipients of scholarships granted by the National Congress of American Indians. Windsong graduated from University of Montana with degrees in anthropology and forensics, while Mark excelled in the school of environment and natural resources from the University of Wyoming, taking graduate courses in archeology from Arizona State. His diligence served him well, and soon he rocketed from graduate assistant to associate professor to seated professor and then head of the department, surpassing all contenders. Some grumbled that his ethnicity was the real reason for his meteoric climb. Mark was good at his job. He was well liked by his students, many of whom he welcomed at his dig sites. He made great finds for the university and did so on a very limited budget. Of course, having a loyal following of graduate and undergraduate students to do all the heavy lifting was a plus.

Windsong was his soul mate. They met at a paleontology convention. Hers was a love of artifacts and the progression of man, from evolving tribal societies to the eventual collapse of complex civilizations. She was a forensic paleontologist. He was an environmental archeologist. They were two sides of the same coin; they both agreed that geographic changes, heightened by weather and climate, allowed society to develop, evolve, rise, and fall. They researched Mark's theory, traveling the world in search of artifacts, bones, fossils, anything that would support Mark's thesis.

Mark adored Windsong. Her inquiring mind saw through the puzzles that confounded him. She was able to link relics from their relative size, shape, and patterns. Her mathematical prowess was second to none. She played the lute and pan flute with a pre-renaissance aplomb. But most of all, he loved her sense of humor. It caused him to wonder and laugh out loud, something he had almost forgotten.

For Windsong, Mark was the key to her lock. She was the middle of five brilliant and beautiful sisters, and bookended by two pairs of identical twin brothers. Windsong never really came into her own as a woman until she met Mark. With him she transformed not only as a skilled academic, but as a stunning and sensual human being. She began to write and be published. She was asked to contribute to nationally select historical and scientific texts. She was his rising star. With all this acclaim, she never lost her humility. She was the yin to his yang. Together or apart, they acted as a single being.

Mark and Windsong managed to gather a moderate grant to work in a small section of Sonora in the Arizona desert. It afforded three scientists and three graduate students and all the undergraduate volunteers who were willing to commit to a summer of Arizona heat without pay, in stark conditions. They arranged access to an area just south of Area 51 in Nevada along with a stretch of land in the Sonora Floristic Province of the Madrean Region to conduct their dig. It was in Madrean that Windsong and Mark fell into the find of the century.

For this excursion Miles Jakison, was the third paid scientist. He had known Windsong in grad school, but had no interest in her other than her astute mind. Socially, he was more interested in either of her younger twin brothers. He had tried to develop a more than working relationship with Mark, but Mark made sure that Miles knew where his equilibrium lie.

Miles Jakison hailed from Finland. He was tall and blond, with piercing blue eyes and a hearty laugh. He was always up for a good laugh, and quite capable at practical jokes, much to his teammates dismay. He was the stereotypical Norseman. His doctoral dissertation discussed the plausible relationship of the Sami peoples to the Inuits of Alaska. His family claimed one-sixth Sami heritage, so Miles had access to relics from ancient Sami cultures. He initially met Mark at a conclave of indigenous peoples. Miles' fair hair and pale complexion created quite a stir among the conspicuously native peoples until he was able to prove his ancestry to the Sami of Finland. Mark claimed that Miles was the only blond, blue-eyed native person he knew. And so three indigenous peoples led the exhibition into seeking archeological relics related to ancient civilizations in the Sonora Desert.

The noonday sun was often too hot to pursue digging, so Mark agreed to nocturnal digs with rest periods occurring during the heat of the day. However, since he slept briefly in two- to three-hour intervals, Mark and Windsong often took to exploring the local flora of the region during the heat of the day. Madrean was known for its unique variety of endemic plants, many of which proved edible, and able to sustain nomadic people as they traveled through the desert. There was a particular grove of Washingtonia filifera or California fan palm that Mark was interested in. Since it grew predominantly where underground springs and river tributaries were found, Windsong had hoped to find remnants of an ancient nomadic tribe. Mark was interested in climate changes that may have occurred during the life span of this particular species that often lived and reproduced for a hundred years or more.

When they reached the grove, Windsong started to dig at the base of a remarkable specimen. This specific palm was over 65 feet tall, with an ample growth of gray-green leaves. The canopy provided much-needed relief from the noonday sun. Mark soon joined her, at first digging alongside, brushing away remnants of leaf and seed. As Mark watched Windsong, tiny trickles of perspiration pooled along the indentation of her neck along her clavicle. Mark leaned in and kissed the moisture away. In a short time, both Mark and Windsong were caught in an amorous embrace. Tumbling to the ground, they rolled about in the shade of the giant palm, until the soft earth gave way under their combined weight. Windsong was able to roll to the side as Mark dropped a good 12 feet below. Creeping to the edge so as not to create another cascade of silt and sand, Windsong asked Mark if he was hurt.

At first breathless, Mark soon regained his composure and laughed. "My dear, we have created a sinkhole, and we are not alone." Mark reached to his left and held high a skull, complete with adornment indicative of a shaman or priest. "And I think there is water down here too. I can hear the light flow of a stream. Call back to base camp and let the others know of our find. Have them bring the carbon dating equipment. We need to determine how old this skull is. We must determine if it comes from the 1800s or is much older. I would guess it is part of the Mesoamerican period from the costume he is laid out in, but we need to be sure. There are artifacts indicating that this place was once a sacred ground, so we need to be extra careful not to disturb anyone's resting place."

"Like you did, Mark?" innocently queried Windsong.

"Exactly. Oh, Winny, have them bring trowel squares, calipers, and brushes, and don't forget the buckets and sieves — and headlights. There appears to be several tunnel formations down here. Do you have your flashlight?"

Laughing, Windsong replied, "I never leave home without it. Here I'll toss it down to you. Now don't stray too far. I know how you tend to get lost in your work."

Windsong alluded to a dig near Cairo wherein Mark took off down an embankment and was missing for three days until he finally surfaced ten miles away from the initial site. "I'll be waiting right here. My God, Winny, you should see what is all down here. I can sit in this spot and be happily occupied for months."

Windsong stood up, dusted herself off, adjusting her clothing as she hastened to the radio com-unit that Mark insisted every digger carry for moments just like this, or more specifically since Cairo.

Miles was manning the radio when the call came in. As he jotted down the coordinates and the list of items, Mark required. "Should we just pack up and move to this new site?" he joked. "It would appear that you are asking for everything but the mess."

"Yes," agreed Windsong, "we will need food too, but I would not abandon camp yet. We are not bugging out, just searching in a more abundant spot."

Miles rang the dinner gong, waking all of the camp who hurried to the sound. "Okay, everyone, the boss has made an amazing discovery.

He and Winny want all hands on board. Get your gear, gather some snackies and plenty of water. It looks like we might be digging into the night."

"Miles, are we bugging out?" asked a petite grad student named Nancy.

"No, we still have a claim here, albeit just some fossilized flora and an arrowhead or two. No, Winny said they found a skull and artifacts that may indicate a Mesoamerican burial spot of a high priest or shaman. Here are the coordinates. Take everything of value, but leave the tents for now. Let's get there then we will determine if we bug out or not."

As if on cue, the com-unit crackled. This time it was Mark on the other end. "Miles, you are not going to believe this. Collect everything. We are bugging out to these coordinates. This is huge. I have a full skeleton, complete wardrobe, medicine bowls, amulets, and a labyrinth of tunnels. My god, man, get everyone, call back to the university if you have to. Bring in all the volunteers. You are not going to believe this." And then the line went dead.

"Well, ladies and gents, you heard the man. Gather your gear, deconstruct the camp, load up the Jeeps, and sally forth. We have a find to unearth."

— The initial find, Trillem's landing site —

Trillem Oornek's effigy was simple and sparsely defined. It touted his travels, or at least some of them, in hieroglyphic displays. The symbols spanned several known cultures and some indiscernible; perhaps childlike in written effort, others quite ornate and decisive. The pictographs told tales, harrowing and traumatic in detail, always f a travel starting and ending with a change in venue and orientation. But always returning to an underground complex of caves and caverns. Oddly, as Trillem's burial site was being unearthed and his spectre developed, the site grew. The original artifacts were from Deata; similar in function and form to that of Earth's indigenous people. However, as the dig progressed and Trillem was allowed to manifest through time and space, the contents of the cave multiplied. Soon relics from every culture and time period of man were to be found in the labyrinth maze confabulation of caves. And with each artifact of gruesome intent, Trillem's malicious persona grew.

Windsong and Mark began to explore the hole as soon as they stopped celebrating. It was an immeasurable find. An entire skeleton in ceremonial dress, a pictographic biography, tools, art, home effects as well as some personal items. It was a treasure trove of archeological delights. Mark considered the numbers of employable techs and scientists as Windsong contemplated on civilizations and types of societies that were described in this apparent homage to a traveler of time, space, and civilizations. Both realized the historical and academic significance of the find. Soon they were embraced, hugging, jumping, and whooping, which soon brought several other scientists to the tryst site.

Miles Jakison was the first to peer into the hole. "You need a light?" he queried.

"Yes," shouted back Mark, "bring a rope, radio the others. This is historical, monumental! At least 5 to 7 years to uncover, and another 20 to catalogue. Not to mention deliberate over."

"YOU mean fight over," Miles shouted back.

"I figure enough work for 50 grad students in 30 different fields."

Miles let Mark ramble on as he called for support. Miles knew Mark tended to exaggerate, but this had to be some find. He soon heard Windsong's excited warble, a hollow echo at first and then louder as she approached the entrance. "Miles, there is a series of caves down here. Each one reads in a different hieroglyphic or picto-glyphic display. I even think there is an ancient Chinese script along one of the walls. And artifacts, pots, kitchenware, I think, even papyrus, maybe? Not sure, but there is so much stuff and it is mostly intact. Mark is not exaggerating. There is enough for 20 Ph.D.'s with a full staff of grad students, and volunteers." Winny, as Windsong was known to her friends and crew, had her cell with her, carefully taking photos of everything she had seen. "This is unbelievable, Miles, and to think if Mark and I were not digging under that grove of palms ..."


Excerpted from "Echoing Time Book"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Michelle Stojic.
Excerpted by permission of Xlibris.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Discovery, 1,
Anya's Tale, 43,
Like a Chinese Puzzle Box, 49,
St. Petersburg 1915, 69,
The Hunt for Mystical Artifacts with the SS, 78,
Wewelsburg Castle and the Quest for the Ark of the Covenant, 84,
Resonances, Vibrations, and an Electrical Surge, 88,
The Sonora Site, 1141,
Hope, Deceit, and Despair: The Second Materialization of Kenroo, 114,
The Prank, 119,
Time Well Spent, 121,
A Basket, a Bell, a Blanket, and a Boy Named Arslan, 123,
Sonora: Initial Sequence, 161,
Mellirt's chance, 174,
The Time Before Recovery, 244,
Trial Run, 293,
Retrieval of Marin, or Mellirt's final option, 348,
Countdown to disaster, 350,
Mellirt's ministrations, 368,
Initial rejoining, 374,
Coming home, 383,
Homecoming, 400,
Reality's Achievements, 405,
Back in the then, 407,

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