Free Monthly #19 Kachi'ni'ay'ap

An Image Prompt Flash Fiction Story

Introduction

I want to spend some time on things I’ve never done before. Flash fiction is not something I’ve done before, not without a broader picture (like Emergence for instance). When I saw IronAge.media had this prompt image, I knew I had a story to tell.

Kachi'ni'ay'ap

I had been following the vague clues for years. They led me down a path of searching. I worried about being misled and thought of the stories about the civil war gold. The towns flush with people that knew something, especially about the others who claimed to know something, yet no one knew where the missing treasure was. My worry was that I was following the same path as those people, wandering about for the gold.

I looked up at the sky as the sun cast red across the landscape and continued my hike through the desolate Colorado forest, reviewing all the details I had been given by the countless locals and others who searched and never found my destination. It was an intriguing thing that a church, built by missionaries at a holy place to convert native tribes, simply vanished without a trace. Despite being nestled away somewhere in the area near Pike’s Peak, it had proven difficult to find since Colorado became a state.

I found the journey to be both exhausting and invigorating. Never in my life had I pursued such an expedition. My trips to amusement parks across the country with my family were shorter and boring compared to my search of Pike National Forest. Unlike my brother who was too impatient to wait in line, I would not be deterred. I had managed to drudge out clues from an older man’s work earlier this year. Coupling this with clues from others, I compiled a sketch of landmarks and their positions to look for. That was what led me to this location.

“Maykw!” The word shocked me and I slipped. I fell to the ground but caught myself before my head careened into the stone. The action sent me tumbling several feet. “Easy there! No need to run off on me now!”

“Who are you?” My disoriented voice asked.

“I’m someone to help.” The man replied as my eyes finally found focused on his face. He smiled warmly and approached to offer his hand. I took it and rose to my feet. His clothing was brown; different than that of a park ranger. The man also wore a cloak which was abnormal. “I didn’t mean to startle. I rarely get visitors.”

I was still near Pike’s Peak and other landmarks which indicated that no one lived here. Not officially anyway. “Visitors?”

“Yes. I’ve made a humble life for myself to help passersby.” The man, who was at least twenty years my elder, studied me with a keen eye as the darkening hue of the reddening sky struck his face. The man spun and began to walk, “Come, friend, I will take you to where I live.”

Perplexed by the suddenness of events, I debated on what to do. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it before I knew he was there. There was an aura about the man that made me feel safe, and I wanted to learn more. I hurried to follow him.

We came to a thicket of trees and bushes that seemed impenetrable. The man hummed to himself and parted the central section, motioning for me to follow. We emerged a moment later, and I saw the image sketched out on the paper in my pocket. I found what I was searching for and the old man’s clue was the final piece to the puzzle. The view from our vantage point did not disappoint. All was where it belonged; the snowy mountain stretched across the sky and below it rested a small valley between hills with pine trees surrounding a small, deciduous, collection of trees. At the center of it all stood the church in a clearing.

“That’s the place I came for!” I exclaimed, excitement stealing every facet of my being. I jumped up and down and reached for my phone.

“So, you’ve come here on purpose.” The words came calmly as he gauged my reaction.

I paid him no mind as I snapped several pictures with my phone to prove I discovered the place. It was thought to be destroyed or merely a myth told by locals to keep people visiting. When I was satisfied, I turned and beamed at the man. “Can I see it up close?”

“Of course!” The man replied happily. I followed him down the hill as we made our way to the church. The steeple, which was the tallest part of the church, had no bell in the belfry. The sanctuary, the next tallest piece of the stone affair, stood with crosses adorning the roof at either end. There was also a hall that stood one story high, connecting the steeple with several rooms behind.

We moved from the base of the hill through a garden flush with fruit trees and stopped in the churchyard. There were graves strewn about the entirety of the snow riddled ground, and despite the isolation of the place, I found it to be peaceful.

I turned to the man. “You said you live here?”

“I do.”

“This church has been missing for centuries!”

“It has.”

I looked around, unsure of what to say next. “How’d you come to live here?”

“I came from California, following clues from the Ute tribe until I arrived. I’ve been here ever since. Come; sit with me where it’s warmer.” The church was a calming presence, and I had no better options, so I followed him.

The sanctuary was much warmer thanks to the wood burning stoves at either end. As we sat, I asked, “Why stay?”

“Because we cannot leave.”

“We?”

“All who seek the church are bound to it once they arrive. Kachi'ni'ay'ap is a place of calm the Ute visited for many years. They’re the ones that made the place binding so anyone but their tribe would stay.”

“Ridiculous!”

“Do you wish to leave?”

I thought about it and found my answer to be obvious. “Of course I don’t want to leave.”

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