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 10Chapter Two -- Awakening0730 Hours: Thursday, June 10, 1993: Sutton Place, New York, New York Mike Liu woke with a start. He had forgotten to set the alarm and had overslept bya half-hour. That is, if you could call it sleep. Mike had tossed about all night. It was thatrecurring dream -- that something had been left undone. He hadn't had that dream in alongtime and it was disturbing. What had waken Mike was someone calling his name.Mike jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom. He had a busy day plannedwith the SystemGraphon deal stalled as it was, last night had dragged into the earlymorning hours. As Mike dressed for work, he glanced quickly at the clock. Damn, hethought. I should've set the alarm.0530 Hours: Thursday, June 10, 1993: Navajo Indian Reservation, New MexicoThe power that compels men does so inexplicably. The affected do not understandor even, for that matter, begin to comprehend the power. Such was the case of the lonelyfigure kneeling on the hard dirt of the barren, windswept mesa, his curved back contrastingdramatically with the sharp edged geometry of the rocky ledge."O Bearer of Light, Creator of Day. Give me a sign to chase the darkness away,"he cried.
 
 11The early morning sky was a rich royal blue. Thin wisps of dark gray clouds tracedwith white spotted the dark blue sky. In the distance, the cold, desert sky had begun tolighten. There, the deep rich blue of night started to give way to the softer pastel blue of the day.As the first golden light peeked over the horizon, a lone hawk floated over theplains searching for early morning thermals; hunting for his daily meal.In the darkness of the valley below, the soft, haunting tones of a Native Americanflute floated languidly into the waking sky.The old man knelt toward the beckoning dawn, resting on the heels of his nakedfeet. His arms rested easily on the rough cloth of his trousers. His wrinkled hands lay onhis knees -- palms up as if in supplication. He had welcomed the morning at this place andin this manner numerous times over the ninety-plus seasons he had walked the Earth.Like the hawk floating effortlessly in the sky, the old man sought sustenance fromthe life-giving rays. The urgency of this particular morning gave even more purpose to hisentreaties. It was the certainty of this date -- a certainty known only to Johnny Thapaha.Johnny Thapaha's white hair fell gently to his shoulders and was kept off hiswrinkled face by a red bandanna tied around the crown of his head. Around his neck was aturquoise bead necklace that ended in a silver and turquoise breastplate in the shape of aneagle with outstretched wings.His shirt was made from the flaxen cloth favored by older members of his tribe andwas loosely gathered at his waist by a leather belt, with an intricate buckle of hammeredsilver. On the third finger of each hand was a silver ring in the shape of an eagle about tostrike.The chill of the early morning did not deter him from the duty which he had doneevery morning for many years.
 
 12The carefully opened sacred bundle, the symbol of his faith and his position, lay onhis lap. His ceremonial pipe rested next to his right knee. Before him, traced in the hardsoil of the mesa, was a circle displaying the four points of the compass, the four cardinaldirections.Johnny Thapaha faced the rising sun, an encroaching warmth he could only feel butcould not see because cataracts had taken away his sight a long time ago. He yearned toknow and to understand what had been and what would surely be. Johnny Thapaha'sblindness served to intensify his mental capabilities on the painful images. Lasting imagesthat had been given to him by the traveler so many years ago.Even at his advanced age and on this lonely windswept mesa, his head was heldhigh and straight. His eyes remained fixed to some distant point only they could see.Suddenly, Johnny Thapaha's face tightened. His aged chin lifted toward the risingsun. His sightless eyes focused. His arms rose outstretched as if in welcome. Over thehorizon came the long awaited sign. A single shaft of golden light. It was disturbing."Michael!" bellowed the old man into the solitary ray of rising sun. The sound of his voice reverberated through the hard-surfaced mesas and the canyon below.The old man's face sagged in exhaustion. His arms dropped limply to his legs.A tear formed in the corner of the old man's right eye, coursed over his weathered-bronzed cheek, hung on the hard edge of his jaw, and finally fell onto the breast of hisshirt. The aged head dropped forward, avoiding the rising sun -- the giver of life, themessenger of things to come.The quiet voice of a child came from the shadows just below the crest of the mesa."Grampa, it's cold and it's getting late.""Yes, Little Dove, it is getting late. We must prepare to leave."
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