Prologue

Note from the Author:

I hope you enjoy this draft, pre-edited sneak peek at the upcoming novel Lost Gems. Stay safe, wash your hands, and be kind to each other!

-Chris

Prologue

The old woman’s knees creaked as she lowered herself onto the stool beside her basket. On the packed dirt floor beside her, her young grandson sorted pieces of fabric from a pile, laying them out in front of him like pieces of a puzzle.

“Abuela, tell me the story.”

She smiled. The boy’s mother never had any interest in the old stories. She’d only been interested in running to town, walking through the shops, and talking to the boys.

This little one had heard the store more times than the woman could count. But, he was a good helper. So as she lifted a piece into her lap and began to stitch it together, she began the story for him the same way it always began.

“In the days before the conquerors arrived, our people made their home in these mountains. Many generations lived and died here. They farmed here. They hunted here. Other groups lived nearby, and sometimes they fought here.

“But before they were here, there was only Are, the Creator.”

Rain tapped on the tin roof above her. Buckets and bowls—anything that could catch water—were hung all around the ramshackle room to catch leaks where the roof had rusted away to nothing. If the product was damaged, there’d be hell to pay.

“One day, as Are walked alone through this valley, he came upon a stand of reeds by the water’s edge. He took one of the reeds, long and slender, and from it he crafted the most beautiful woman in all the world—the first woman. Her hair was long and thick and black as the night sky, and her skin was smooth and brown. And her voice.”

The old woman closed her eyes and leaned back for just a moment, hearing the musical sound in her imagination, before she resumed.

“Her voice was soft and warm and she sang more beautifully than the birds and more soothing than the waterfall. And he named the woman Fura.”

She glanced up from her work. Women perched on similar stools around the perimeter. A long wooden table covered with rolls and scraps of fabric dominated the center of the room. Two bare light bulbs dangled above it.

“Are set her by the river and she began to explore, her light filling the valley with love and joy. While she explored, Are took another reed from the water. This time he chose a thick, sturdy stalk. And from it, he made a man. A strong and handsome man with sharp eyes and a silent step. He named the man Tena, and he gave Tena a sturdy spear that would never grow dull.

“He gave Fura and Tena this valley to rule as their own, the slopes and the fields and the river running through its center. He told them to plant in the fields and to hunt the animals. And above all, he told them to be true to each other.

“Then Are ascended beyond the top of the mountain where he could admire all that he had created.”

The abuela poked her needle through the hem of her skirt, then lifted the limp pile of soft cloth and began to shove bits of thick white stuffing into the crevices. Its form began to emerge, identical to the ones growing in various stages around the room.

She continued her story. “Fura and Tena lived a very long time in this valley. And unlike you and me, little one, they never grew old. Tena’s muscles never grew soft or weak. Fura’s hair remained shiny and black.

“Until one day, while Tena was hunting along the western slope, a stranger appeared along the bank of the river. Fura had never seen such a man, with skin the color of the stars and hair yellow like a stalk of grass during the dry season.

“But it wasn’t these things that were her downfall, no. It was his eyes. The color of the morning sky, and sparkling like the water in the mid-day sun.”

She chose a long, narrow stick with its end carved into a flattened paddle, then wrapped clumps of stuffing around the end and pushed them deep into the long limbs of the creature coming to life in her hands. While she talked, she began to stuff its body, cramming more and more of the white fluff through the open seam along its side.

“Now Tena had been good to Fura. They had lived together in harmony for more moons than Fura could count. But this man, whose name was Zarbi, when she looked at him, she felt a warmth in her middle like nothing she’d ever felt before. It felt like sitting beside a fire on a cold night, and it felt like the wings of a bird taking off into the wind, and it felt like the glittering stars and the shimmering river.

“Fura knew that Tena would be away. She remembered the Creator’s warning, but she reasoned that he must have created these feeling insider her, and so she went to Zarbi and she took his hand.

“But Tena returned early from his hunting trip.”

“Uh oh.” The little boy looked up at her, entranced.

“You are right, little one. Uh-oh.”

She looked down at the animal in her lap. It was nearly full. The abuela pulled open a tiny drawer hidden in the seat of her stool, and from the drawer, she pulled a small, heavy bundle of white cloth.

She carefully tucked the bundle deep into the fluffy stuffing, packing it in tightly, then filling the void so the animal was firm.

“Tena was angry and he chased Zarbi away with his spear, then he called upon Are to pass judgement on this woman who had betrayed him. And Are did. But he passed judgement on them both. On Fura for her infidelity, and on Tena for neglecting his bride. Because women need to be loved and cherished and respected, little one. You remember that when you grow up.”

She chose a sturdy needle and a length of thick brown floss, then handed it to her grandson to thread—his eyes saw small detail far better than hers in this dim light.

While he prepared the tool, she shuffled to the table where a tall pile of white labels printed in English sat in a small box. She reached beneath the box and chose a label, identical except for its dark green background.

She returned to her stool and took the needle from the boy.

“What happened next, Abuela?”

As she stitched the label to the cloth and closed the gap in the toy, she told him how the story ended.

“Are punished them both by allowing them to grow old. Their bones grew brittle and their hair turned gray. And Fura cried for the loss of her beauty and her love, and her tears fell into the river and sank to the bottom of the lake and the mountain absorbed them into itself to hold her sorrow forever.

“And when they died, Are lifted them up, one on each side of the river, there,” she pointed out the filthy, rain-streaked window, “and there, to remind us all of their mistakes.”