REGENESIS

by D. Scott Dickinson

  What he does not know is the newborn ambition that beats in the breast of one.

  For his part, Grak is devastated by the unexpected return of their lost leader.

  Why couldn’t he have the decency to stay lost? he wonders resentfully. But the appearance of Gruk’s heavy cudgel keeps the pretender’s tongue in check.

  Brusquely re-establishing his precedence, Gruk orders the hunters to stop here and gather fish for their meal. Cupping puddled fresh water in his palms, the leader drinks his fill before accepting a raw fish from one of the hunters.

  “You have many questions,” he begins, “and so I will tell you all that has transpired since last we met.”

  Grak tries to interrupt him by demanding to know where their missing comrade is. Gruk gruffly shuts him down by continuing his narrative in a louder voice.

  “We tracked the howling demon to its lair, and in the darkness confronted it!

  “What we did not know is that the monster’s glowing red eyes can pierce the blackness. That it can sense the approach of any living thing. That it is bent on destroying every living thing. And that all within its reach perish there.

  “That is why I alone return.

  “Our comrade left my side to circle around and attack from the rear as I mounted the frontal assault. But the watchful creature caught him unawares and devoured him whole—skin, flesh and bone—before I could come to his aid.

  “The demon was hissing so loud it was a perfect howl!” Gruk embellishes.

  “Approaching it with both hands over my ears, I was nearly struck deaf when I pulled my cudgel from under one arm and raised it up to the creature’s hot, rancid breath.

  “I struck the demon again and again as it squirmed in fright to escape my mighty blows.

  “I cannot tell how long my withering assault lasted. Only that when the worm retreated into its wretched hole, I could scarce raise my arms for another blow.

  “Listen, my warriors! Hear the silence of the menace that is no more!

  “I vanquished the howling beast. Our comrade is avenged. It will bother us no longer!” he concludes, as the gullible listeners begin gabbling excitedly, leaping up and down in their stooped postures.

  Seizing on their credulity, he proclaims:

  “For this great victory, henceforth shall I be called ‘Gruk the Brave’!”

  Only the jealous Grak, infected with envy and malice toward the leader, betrays skepticism.

  “How is it you suffered no mark on either cudgel or skin?” he wants to know, in a voice tinged with false innocence.

  “Do you doubt me?” Gruk dares. “Come closer, doubter, and I will show you how cleanly my cudgel cleaved the creature!”

  “No, no,” returns Grak. “I only meant to praise the prowess of Gruk the Brave in vanquishing so fearful a one with so little injury to himself!”

  But the leader’s blow finds its mark. The brusque put-down in front of their fellows accomplishes two ends.

  First, it diminishes Grak in the eyes of the other hunters, as Gruk intended.

  Second, it creates a mortal enemy in Grak, something Gruk in his blind arrogance did not intend.

  The leader’s derision kindles a resentment in Grak’s heart that will smolder and fester until he finds an opportunity to avenge himself on Gruk and redeem himself as the new leader. While Gruk is too powerful to confront openly, Grak will bide his time until they are alone and plunge his stone knife deep into the leader’s heart where none will know.

  “And that will be the end of Gruk the Brave”, he soliloquizes out of earshot of the others, licking his lips in anticipation. “And the beginning of ‘Grak the Fierce’, new leader of the tribe!”

  Having carried off his deception and put Grak in his place, Gruk barks at the others to resume the hunt. There is quarry somewhere ahead, and he is eager to catch them in a place where the hunters can set their ambush and capture all the slaves alive.

  Late in the day, foothills make their appearance. A welcome relief from the bleak monotony of the frozen tundra.

  The piedmont is clearly defined, stretching away into the landward distance. By the time night falls, the pursuers reach the base of the foothills and are asleep beneath their reassuring presence.

  But nothing prepares them for the unfamiliar scene that will greet them on their journey late the following day!

  They have been traveling most of the day as a strange, unnatural light begins to gather at an elevation near the far end of the piedmont range.

  Nearing the hills, they witness bright color. For the first time.

  In stark contrast to the bleak overcast tundra they are leaving. And the heavily shrouded monochrome polar world they have known all their lives.

  The broad reach between ocean and piedmont is blanketed with shrubs whose vivid violet flora adorns the near range of visibility.

  Approaching the heights beyond, they see a high escarpment laced with cataracts, radiating prismatic patterns in the crashing spume below.

  At the top of the escarpment is a majestic heliotrope forest. So dense the only apparent entry-points are breaks where water flows over the falls.

  The stunning beauty of the scene is lost on the brutish minds witnessing it. As they shade their eyes against the bright colors and curse the footprints for leading them toward a prominence that appears impossible to scale.

  But their journey through the violet shrubland is uneventful, and they are thankful the prints guide them to a sheltering cave behind the nearest waterfall.

  Gruk calls a halt for the night, and they are relieved to find an abundance of unwary fish swimming in a placid pool under the rainbow of spume at the base of the falls. Eating their fill, the brutes fall out and sleep in the dark recess of the cave.

  The gathering light of two suns fails to find them as, prodded by their leader, they are deep within the escarpment. Following the cave traversed by those they stalk.

  The trail points upward to the crest of the high cliff, where they spill out of its blackness. Blinking their eyes at the harsh light of the risen suns.

  They are standing on the open bank of a wide, swiftly flowing river coursing from the darkened depths of the forest. Plunging to a thundering fall at the foot of the escarpment far below.

  The hunters are gabbling excitedly, but visibly torn between relief at their escape from the ominous orbs of fire above and dread at the looming unknown of the dark forest ahead

  .

  Pointing his cudgel toward the footprints on the bank, Gruk growls a command for the others to advance deeper into the gloaming.

  The suns are high in the sky when the travelers reach a point where the tenuous light on the river path is completely shuttered by a high, seamless canopy of overhanging limbs. Creating a roof of palest purple above, supported by thick, enclosing walls of wide trunks.

  They are entering a vast hall of heliotrope. An enclosed corridor of gloom and peril.

  It is a dim, silent arcade whose winged watchers visit swift and violent retribution on all who dare intrude. But the brutes below, like the others before them, fail to look up. Oblivious to the watchful danger as they invade this guarded realm.

  Although they are a product of parallel evolution, the creatures in this canopy are more sinister than their southern cousins.

  Like them, the creatures guarding this northern heliotrope forest are sinuous of form and fly on muffled wings. But unlike their cousins, they are larger of body and smaller of wing and, relying on stealth, are more lethal.

  While their territorial cousins purpose merely to drive intruders from their forest, the endgame of the creatures here is death itself.

  They do not prey on carrion; their prey does. And the heady scent of recent death is required to lure them here for the winged guardians to feed upon.

  They were startled into caution by the first bipeds to cross their forest. Passing up a rare chance to greatly increase their larder of carrion.

  It is an opportunity they will not m
iss this time!

  With no experience of flying things, the invaders below have no reason to look above them. And with no shadow beneath the canopy to betray their presence, the winged guardians flit undetected overhead.

  Grak is first to perceive danger, and it comes through his aroused olfactory sensors. The faint, charnel odor of rotting flesh creeps into his nostrils, warning him that death is abroad. Still, he does not look for it above him, but keeps his eyes peeled on the ground below.

  So rapt is he that he fails to see the evil descending on silent wings. Until it seizes one of the hunters.

  The superstitious Grak marvels at the levitation of feet from the ground into thin air as if possessed by magic. Until he glances up and, with a shriek of horror, sends the hunters in full flight. Screeching their panic in cries of alarm.

  Abandoning the hapless hunter, Gruk the Brave is in the lead, trying to outdistance the rest. While Grak runs a close second in the cowardly retreat.

  Fleeing the canopied realm, they bolt back the way they came. Pausing only when no creature pursues them into the open ground beyond. While they have lost one of their own, the hunters do not grieve. Each considering himself lucky to escape and smugly dismissing the loss of their comrade as no fault of theirs.

  Returning to the edge of the escarpment, Gruk the Brave tells the hunters that they must find another way around the heliotrope forest. That they will pick up the prints of their quarry where they emerge on the other side.

  He does not burden them with the possibility there may be no prints.

  Even in their dim minds, Gruk realizes, giving up the hunt is a promise broken.

  That is a truth he prefers not be told.

  Chapter 38. Calvings

  Standing on the far rim of the high mountain valley, the couple look back wistfully at the haunting plateau. With its timeless menagerie of ancient aquatic life-forms swimming the seas no more. And the wheel of blue-green spokes with its vast taxonomy of life-forms roaming the land no more.

  They have been weeks studying the lost creatures of this world. It is time to begin their journey northward in earnest. Toward the temperate latitudes Noah hopes to make their home.

  For him, it has been a blessed interlude of scientific discovery and deepening love for his mate. And she has responded in kind.

  Every waking day, they have studied the creatures in their ice-locked tombs.

  Every welcome sleep, they have curled up in the dry mountain cave. Holding one another closely through the long, welcome breaks of sweet repose.

  It is the honeymoon they have not had, and Noah is thankful for the memories he will take from this special place in the polar clouds. A time of peace and a time of devotion to the two things he treasures above all else in this world: his love of science and his love for Davina.

  Descending the high mountain slope, Noah is reminded of the treacherous alpine gorge he crossed what now seems ages ago when he entered the cloud-covered antarctic.

  Deep crevasses and random pits masked by frozen sheets of snow make their downward journey hazardous. Both make ample use of their long spears as they make slow and cautious progress. Constantly probing for false bottoms and hidden slicks of ice.

  Unlike their earlier climb, however, the descent on this side of the mountain is the work of but a day, and they are not forced to bivouac on the perilous slope. That is because the icepack here rises up to meet the mountain’s middle-height, and they are able to sleep on its level surface.

  Fully rested and refreshed, the couple set out at once across the trackless ice. Toward horizons so distant they appear to melt into the overarching bank of cloud.

  It is a harshly white, bleak, featureless landscape—utterly devoid of earth or stone—save for a serpentine ribbon of puddled melt. Welling up from the icy depth and sitting motionless upon the frozen surface.

  Lacking any surer direction, Noah and Davina follow the still river day after daunting day across the endless icepack. The ribbon of sweet, open water is home to a variety of small fish. Providing sustenance as well as refreshment for the couple's long journey across the frozen waste.

  Until the monotony is finally broken by . . .

  The eerie, unaccustomed sound of thunder in the distance. Causing Davina to tighten her grip on Noah’s hand.

  Tasting the salty air, he knows they are nearing the blue-green ocean and the cymbal clashes of violent noise are the birthing cries of bergs calving from the icepack’s shelves.

  Calming her fear, Noah smiles knowingly and changes course to what he trusts is a more northerly direction. True north or not, he knows that they must steer clear of the calving shelves at the edge of the sea. That their parallel course must surely lead them to the rim of the clouds blanketing the polar region.

  His immediate concern is food, as their new course leads them away from the ribbon-like melt of open water. While they can readily drink the snow and ice that thaw in the cup of their palms, they are literally walking away from the fish they need to sustain strength and life.

  Although he is determined to strike northward, Noah knows they must turn back if they fail to find open water within range of their ability to return to the serpentine rill they are abandoning. That is why he now monitors their hardiness and endurance in real time as they trudge along on the new course.

  Many hours and leagues later, his strength and resolve begin to wane as he realizes they must turn back soon or perish from want of food.

  That is when he nearly loses Davina!

  His thoughts focused on the prospect of doubling back, he fails to perceive the danger they are walking into. Even Davina is distracted by the conflicted countenance of her mate until . . .

  A patch of false ice gives way beneath her feet, and she steps into a void!

  Thankfully, they have been walking hand-in-hand, and Noah is able to pull her back from the edge of the crevasse as thin shards of ice implode downward. Crashing into open sea far, far below.

  Holding hands, their love for one another has, literally, preserved them both.

  The effort to escape the crevasses has taken a toll on their dwindling reserve of energy and, hugging Davina close, Noah knows now they must turn back at once. But as they pull one another up from the frigid surface, they quail at a discovery that extinguishes all hope.

  The imploding ice has opened a wide, yawning fissure barring any chance of return in the direction they came. Straining his eyes, Noah sees that the crack extends beyond sight.

  And, worse, it continues to widen!

  Are they trapped on some immense calving berg? he wonders.

  If so, he knows they cannot survive. They will drift helplessly into the ocean. Forever separated from the land he hoped to make their home.

  They can only go forward and trust that the integrity of the northern margin of this ice-sheet is not compromised. That they can continue across the main icepack until it descends to the solid, stony surface of land beyond.

  That is their single hope and sole chance of survival.

  Thus does anxiety haunt their sleep this night. As they huddle ever closer against the cold uncertainty confronting them.

  They cannot imagine the sight that will welcome them when they awaken.

  Unfolding herself from Noah’s protective embrace, Davina stares toward the horizon and blinks her ice-blue eyes in surprise. And to confirm the reality of what she sees.

  There, in the near distance ahead, is the inviting mouth of an ice cavern. Beckoning them into its safe and sheltered lee. Excited by its promise of protection, she shakes Noah insistently and urges him toward the black opening ahead.

  The cavern is spacious and dry. And it holds an even greater surprise within its dark recess: open water pooling at the back of the cavern with an abundance of small fish swimming near its surface.

  It is a discovery beyond hope. For here is all the couple will need to restore their strength and provision themselves for the immeasurable trek ahead.

  The p
ortent of the sundering ice-sheet is momentarily forgotten in their celebration of this provident find. As they immediately begin spearing fish and eating the filleted flesh. It is a banquet made richer by serendipitous good fortune and sweeter by renewed hope.

  Having eaten their fill and laid aside a store of fish they can carry away with them, Noah is conflicted by the next decision they must make. To rest here in shelter and plenty or to go now before the fissure cuts off all escape.

  Persuaded by his concern for Davina and the hidden dangers of the icescape ahead, he temporizes. Opting to remain here for two days only and then continue the journey fully fed and rested.

  It is a choice they both will rue!

  Their stay in the ice cavern provides both rest and nourishment.

  After capturing and preparing fish for their onward trek, they spend their waking hours in hopeful contemplation of their life together. And both nights find their bodies locked one to the other, sharing their love and warmth against the cold and drear.

  Rising from their second sleep in this cave, they strike out laden with food and hope. This time, they proceed more slowly and deliberately. Taking turns at lead, systematically probing the path ahead against the hazard of false bottoms.

  Their optimism is sustained by a faint and growing brightening of the horizon ahead.

  While the light is no more intense than the refractions from the needle-like obelisks she is accustomed to, it raises Davina’s spirits. And makes her want to know more about the approaching landscape.

  The white, wintry world they are crossing is a radiance of frost and snow. But it has been a monotonous trek. Through league after league of sterile, featureless ice barrens.

  The appearance of glowing reflections in the distance ahead promises a dramatic change from the frozen waste around them.

  Now they are traveling between massive columns of block-ice littering the frigid surface. Smooth blue-green facets, polished by the action of an invisible ocean far below, make them radiate the deep, vibrant colors of the sea. Sapphire blue and emerald green.

  The huge blocks are fragments of ice-sheet upended by oceanic forces straining against the unyielding mass of icepack. And the travelers marvel at their crystalline architecture and revel in the symmetry and translucent beauty of their geometric perfection.