REGENESIS

by D. Scott Dickinson

  And plunges the glade into darkness.

  Too fatigued to question the wisdom of spending the night in this haunted glade, Noah is soon slumbering soundly by Davina’s side.

  But sleep cannot find his mate, for she knows they have some important, yet indefinable mission this night. She wonders what that mission will be. But she does not resist it.

  A force as compelling as her need to greet the darkness in this glade cannot be denied.

  Despite her mate’s misgivings, this is the first night she has felt truly safe. Nestled in Noah’s strong arms. Staring up at the brightly twinkling astral sky, Davina drifts gently into its dream-like embrace.

  At peace in this magical glade, she does not suspect how this night will change her destiny and the future of the world!

  Gazing at the stars in the margins of her dream, she witnesses their light flow into a single shimmering river of silver. Which, like some irresistible celestial cataract, pours from the blackness of the sky into the glade.

  There, it resolves into a dazzling spectral maiden whose flowing tresses and trailing robe are the stuff of starlight.

  The only adornment on her silvery countenance is a single crimson blossom in her hair. Its long, lush petals furling back on themselves into tightly closed folds of red velvet.

  But the most astonishing aspect of this spectral presence is its physiognomy.

  It is the face of Davina herself, identical in every lovely detail!

  It is like looking into a silver mirror whose insubstantial reflection stares knowingly back at her.

  As she gasps in disbelief, the maiden speaks:

  “Welcome, sister. I have been expecting you these many ages.

  “You bring the Awaited One. Now it is time.”

  Stunned by the speaking specter’s salutation, Davina wants to know:

  “Who are you?

  “Why have you been expecting me?

  “What do you mean by ‘the Awaited One’?

  “And what is it time for?”

  Smiling, the maiden responds with a riddle:

  “You can know who I am by knowing who you are. For we are one.

  “Look within you, sister, and know you have both flesh and bone; yet, they are not who you are.

  “Look beyond you, sister, and know the world is both land and sea; yet, they are not who I am.

  “We are abstractions, both of us. The insubstantial but essential souls of our physical selves. Just as your thoughts are the essence of who you are, so am I the spirit of the world around you. The essence of all things that are of this world.

  “The world has long expected such as you, for a mission long planned,” the Earth Spirit continues. “But the Awaited One is required also for you to fulfill your purpose.

  “He is here with you now. And so, it is time to make the world over again.”

  Spreading her arms toward a future only she can see, the Earth Spirit foretells:

  “You will know it is time when first you hear the deafening progress of rolling thunder and see the illuminating strobes of lightning stab across the heavens. For I shall send clouds to shade you from the intensity of two suns and to water the lands that have lain fallow these many ages.

  “Then shall you sow your seeds and ensure the renewed abundance of the world.”

  With these words, the silver maiden begins to fade. But her message is not done, as she adds:

  “Rebirth of the world is not a painless process. There will be labor for you, and death for others.

  “It will herald the end of your race. Of the faux scientists as well the brutes. Descendants all. At the far ends of the world.

  “But while the frozen lands will be purified, not all will die.

  “Beware, sister, for evil is abroad in the land and like crustacea it scuttles along on bandy legs. Some of the brutes have ranged beyond their cloud-cloaked boundaries and are a menace to all.

  “Yet, the fellow-travelers who led the Awaited One to you shall survive as well. So there is great hope evil will not again prevail.”

  Spreading her palms toward the floor of the glade, the Earth Spirit continues:

  “Here have I prepared the way for you.

  “It was I who assigned the Caretaker those many eons past to tend and purify this place for the seminal event it will host.

  “It was I who sowed your doubt and discontent, liberating you from the shackles of ignorance and complacency imprisoning those around you.

  “It was I who delivered the Awaited One to you.

  “It was I who guided you to store and bear the seeds that will renew this world.

  “It was I who protected you both each step of your journey. From the perils of the calving ice-mass. The deep magma caverns. The elevated forests and high plateau. And the trackless sea of grass.

  “And it was I who willed you to this special place.”

  The Earth Spirit concludes with a promise:

  “Your bond with the Awaited One is strong, but is still not complete.

  “You have not yet received my gift to you. It is the thing most precious.

  “My gift will come to you when next you open your eyes. That is when I will send a wee visitor. And the gift he bears will fill you with the purpose you long for.

  “Your union will be sanctified.

  “Your mission will begin.

  “The world will be reborn!”

  With that, the ghostly Earth Spirit dissipates into the night. The silver starlight streams out of the glade and into the thousand points of light that twinkle merrily in the obsidian sky.

  Only the crimson blossom remains, ere its wispy red-velvet tendrils waft into the waiting want of her womanhood.

  Serene silence returns to the empty glade and hushes the world. While Davina sleeps, nestled in the arms of her lover.

  She is first to awaken. She languidly stretches her feline female form. Staring aloft at a buoyant sea of shimmering silver stars. Almost purring her contentment.

  The astral display is bewitching, but it is a slight movement at the edge of the glade that draws her attention. Initially, she cannot make out what the movement is. But the first light of two rising suns reveals a single small bee-like creature making a first morning visit to the mega-flora that fringe the glade.

  Enchanted, she watches as a giant crimson blossom spreads its petals in anticipation of the pollinator it knows will come.

  As the creature alights on the flower’s anthered stamens, the heady aroma of jasmine invades Davina’s flared nostrils. Every airborne molecule exciting her olfactory senses. Stoking unfamiliar desires.

  The womanhood in Davina is irresistibly aroused by the unfamiliar scent.

  As the bee crawls purposefully to gather more pollen, she draws Noah closer and softly strokes his cheek. Her moist, lingering kisses urging him awake.

  Her outstretched body quivering, she draws him in to her.

  Looking aside through lids heavy with passion, she sees the bee quiver, too. As it sucks in the nectar that attracted it here.

  Drowning in the dream-like depth of her wide, ice-blue eyes, Noah sinks into the moist, mystical medium of the life-source within her.

  Their connection is complete.

  The fulfillment startles her! Her breath catches with the sudden intake. Her pupils dilate to wide, black pools. Whose mystery penetrates to the very womb of her soul.

  Surrendering themselves completely, one to the other, Noah and Davina are transported to a place they have never been. Then, shuddering as one, they are released to a repose they have never known.

  Thus is their union consummated at the stroke of dawn. Ushering in a new day in the flower-fringed glade that was their bridal bower.

  In this special place where magic was made.

  Awakening once more, Noah exults in his newfound knowledge of her deepest intimacy. While Davina shyly flutters long lashes concealing her womanly fulfillment and the mystery stirring within.

  Hers is a secret she will s
hare only when the time is right.

  Doubt gnaws at the edges of Noah’s rapture as he reluctantly accepts the reality that no issue can come of their union in this place. He and Davina are alien species, and even the strength of their love will not bridge a biological divide that cannot be crossed.

  Sensing his disappointment, she smiles subtly in the sure knowledge of the mystery within her. It is a secret that will be all the more welcome when she reveals it to him.

  But that must wait for a later time in a different place.

  Chapter 51. The Keen Edge of Revenge

  Eleven bestial brutes scale the valley of bright colors. One falls prey to his own treachery. And now there are ten.

  Gruk is angry!

  The fresh tracks leading into the valley of bright colors have vanished. All his hunters have combed every part of the valley’s rim, and there are no footprints or signs of passage.

  It is as if their quarry has been swallowed whole!

  The hunters are exhausted by their climb out of the valley and their search along its rim, and the leader tells them to fall out as night approaches.

  Gruk is fitful this night, and the loud grunts and snoring of the hunters make it impossible for him to think. Rising quietly and pausing only long enough to be sure the rest are asleep, he slips silently away to an odd rock formation on the valley’s very rim.

  Finding the solitude he seeks, the leader settles in to think through their present predicament and future plans.

  He does not know another is abroad this night.

  As he left the sleeping hunters, a single shape rose from the gaggle of forms lying on the smooth ground and, like some insubstantial specter, seemed to float slowly away in the same direction.

  It is Grak and, seeing the leader sneak into the night without his cudgel, he seizes the opportunity he has been relishing these many travel-days.

  So riveted is he on the receding figure of his departing leader, Grak fails to notice yet another form rise from the huddled hunters and stealthily dog his own steps.

  Crouched in a cul-de-sac of high boulders, Gruk appears too immersed in his own thoughts to detect the silent approach of the pretender snaking his way to the crest of the boulder directly above him.

  He is thrown to the ground by the sheer weight of Grak’s body as it falls on him from above. And the attacker is astride his prostrate form wielding a wicked stone dagger above his heart.

  “So, Gruk the Brave,” the sneak hisses, “you die this night!

  “You shall be called ‘Gruk the Dead’.

  “What good is your cudgel now?” he taunts.

  A malevolent smirk spreads across his face, and he takes a deep breath as he prepares to plunge his stone dagger into the heart of the leader.

  Suddenly, Grak’s eyes widen in surprise. His lips purse into an oval of shock. His diaphragm squeezes out a sharp sigh. Like the spirit escaping a corpse that is vital no more.

  “Fool!” the leader snaps. “I warned you I would keep my eyes on you. They have watched. They have waited. They are behind you now.

  “Feel the cold, deep plunge of the dagger they wield, and know it is you who dies this night!”

  Pushing aside Grak’s lifeless body, the leader turns to the assassin and barks the first order to his new number 2:

  “Take this trash away and dump it over the valley’s edge!”

  Chapter 52. Reunited

  Ten bestial brutes cross the open plain. Three fall prey to the dire wolf. And now there are seven.

  Leaving the valley of bright colors, the brutes find themselves on an endless plain. Whose horizon floats upward in undulating ribbons of heat. Rising like a mirage.

  Without prints to track, Gruk is gambling their quarry are still headed in the general direction of the last visible footprints in the valley behind them.

  Eventually, he hopes, the hunters will pick up the trail again. If not, he knows, there will be much grumbling and discontent. Be that as it may, the best choice lies dead ahead, and that is where he leads them.

  The rocky terrain soon levels out into a more open, hospitable landscape of sparse bramble and smooth, open ground. The easier going inspires the hunters to a more enthusiastic search for fresh prints. But none is discovered for many tedious days.

  Still, the hunters are encouraged by a profusion of edible berries and tubers as well as readily accessible streams and an abundance of small fish. Plants growing along the streams’ banks are sweet and succulent, and the rivers run everywhere. Like veins constantly transporting the lifeblood of fresh water to every part of the plain.

  After many sleeps and countless treks, the hunters come to an area marked by the scat of some large creature. Judging by the ripeness and wide scatter of evidence, many such animals have passed this way recently.

  But the hunters are undeterred. They have never known a creature they could not defeat.

  What they cannot know is they have crossed into the territory of the great dire wolf. The plain’s apex predator.

  Nor do they take time to process the implications of this discovery, as a more promising one diverts their immediate attention.

  They have stumbled across the faint, smudged footprints of the quarry they have pursued from the far end of the world.

  But that is not what engages their interest.

  The brutes come to a sudden stop at the sight of new tracks transecting the familiar spoor!

  There are two pairs of unfamiliar footprints. They are much more recent than the several they have been pursuing. And they meander off in a different direction altogether.

  So close to the way the others must have come, Gruk wonders how his hunters failed to notice them.

  Gruk waves the others away as he considers the implications for him of this unexpected find.

  The new prints are not only much fresher. They are also more distinct and clearly defined than the smudges they have been tracking. The brute is swayed by two plain advantages:

  The recency of the new prints means quarry may be much nearer at hand. Requiring less time and effort to close with them.

  And there are only two versus the many they have been following. That means less resistance in the capture.

  His mind made up, Gruk motions the warriors in the direction of the fresher prints, and soon they are trudging along in their bandy-legged, mechanical cadence. Thirsting for a quarry they hope is close and defenseless.

  Darkness soon overtakes them and, without visible prints to follow, Gruk calls a halt to this day’s march.

  Little does he suspect the stalkers are themselves being stalked. By a creature that has eyes in the night.

  It is a great dire wolf, a cunning predator that has managed to remain out of their sight even as it tracked them through the late afternoon.

  Closing on its prey in darkness, the creature discovers a huddle of hairy figures whose stentorious snoring could wake the dead. They emit the charnel reek of rotting flesh, igniting a blood-frenzy in the creature’s wolfish heart to kill these intruders in its territory.

  So aroused is it, the wolf immediately attacks the sleeping hunters. Rending hide, flesh and bone.

  The hairy beasts are not part of the wolf’s exclusive food-link. So it means simply to leave their torn remains scattered about the ground as a warning to other would-be invaders of its realm.

  Waking to the sight of his hunters being eviscerated by the giant creature, Gruk steals silently away in the dark. Leaving his fellows to fend for themselves.

  Meantime, the other hunters rally to the defense of their dying comrades and, swinging their heavy cudgels, bludgeon the attacker to death. In a blood-rage, they keep beating the lifeless wolf until their arms tire and they can raise their clubs no more.

  Three of their comrades are dead. And their leader is gone, but not for long.

  Stepping out of the darkness, Gruk loudly declares:

  “I see you have killed one of the creatures. I have run the others off.

 
“They are fleeing with their tails between their legs. For they were no match for Gruk the Brave!

  “Fear not, my hunters. They dare not return while I am here.”

  None of his slow-witted hunters thinks to scan the ground for signs of the wolves their leader drove away.

  Leaving the corpses of their fellows on the bare and open ground, the hunters gather at the upwind side of the camp where, posting one to keep watch, Gruk tells them to sleep the rest of the night.

  Gruk is still dreaming of slaves and riches when he is shaken awake by one of his hunters. The leader grumbles, but the frightened look on the face of the hunter alarms him.

  “Why do you wake me in the middle of the night?” he demands.

  “The suns have been swallowed by darkness,” the hunter fearfully explains.

  “They began to rise moments ago, when suddenly the world turned dark.

  “I am afraid.”

  Peering into blackness, Gruk perceives a thick, grainy consistency in the air ahead. When, without warning . . .

  The dust-storm strikes!

  The brutes who are just rising are blasted to the ground as the violently swirling particles scrape, scour and abrade their hairy hide. Curling into fetal positions, they are spared only by the coarse toughness of that thick hide.

  While the others are cowed by the intensity of wind and the pain of stinging dirt, it is Gruk who is terror-stricken by the storm’s high shriek.

  It is a sound he has heard before. At the howling crater. Where his fellow hunter was swallowed whole.

  The craven, superstitious brute hugs the ground. Intent on keeping a lower profile than the others. Hoping the demon that carried away his fellow hunter at the crater will be appeased by snatching others whose higher profile makes them more vulnerable.

  The storm rages for two days and two nights as the hunters remain huddled and motionless on the bare and open ground. While Gruk, his active imagination sparked by the fury of the wind, suffers the torment of the coward through the long days and nights of the storm’s unrelenting assault.

  Dawn is just breaking on the third day as the winds moderate and the light of two suns pierces the thinning veil of dust that is slowly retreating into the distance.