After hours of daunting labor, the sisters espy a white speck low on the far horizon. Shaking off fatigue, they redouble their effort to reach the distant image.
They make swift progress until, suddenly, their craft is wrenched sideways by an unseen force. It takes all their strength to right the craft back into the direction of the nearing white image.
The giant skate follows in relentless pursuit. Intent on its quarry. Still the only object visible in the feedback loop of its constant acoustical pings.
The sisters row faster as the speck grows into a thin wisp of white. Perching on the ocean’s surface. Gradually expanding to a towering column of vertical cloud.
Leaping to the hatch, On-o-Peia shouts encouragement:
“The shadow-monster still stalks us. But the cloud on the sea grows closer.”
Jumping back down to her place at the oars, she urges: “Keep rowing. It cannot be long now!”
Just as she utters these words, the first small bubble breaks the surface of the quickly warming sea. They are nearing the superheated cauldron of boiling water. Fed still by the lava beneath the white, toxic cloud.
So is the giant skate. . . .
Until she is not anymore.
The broad shadow slows. Then stops.
Stung once more by the heated water, the titan recoils.
The shadow turns. Then flees. Bleeding into the distance away from the toxic cloud.
On-o-Peia is back at the open hatch. Venting the rising warmth within the craft. Watching the shadow melt away.
“Turn away, sisters,” she commands. “The shadow-monster is gone. Our destination lies beyond the cloud ahead, to the other side, where the shadow dares not follow. It is our certain protection from the monster.”
As the craft circumnavigates the towering column of toxic gas and ash, the giant skate reaches the great ocean current. It is not the same lifeless waste she crossed in pursuit of the floating object.
She enters familiar, life-filled waters. Carrying great swaths of micro-organisms as they race in the direction of the current’s flow.
The cooling ocean has regained its equilibrium.
The temperature variations between its ascending zones have restored the vital balance energizing the great current.
The rich harvest of life flowing down from upstream has reclaimed the stretch of current made sterile by the pyroclastic blast and super-heated floe of lava into the sea.
The cooling waters are cleansed and alive once more.
Back in her own world, the titan begins to feed.
Gaining the far side of the towering cloud, the exhausted sisters lay down their oars and rest.
Mat-o-Peia echoes the sentiments of the rest as she asks:
“What possessed you to turn back to the death and destruction we so lately fled, On-o?”
Shrugging her shoulders, the youngest sister replies:
“It seemed obvious to me our puny spears would not dislodge a creature strong enough to lift our craft. And when I saw its vast shadow, I knew it would be discouraged only by a greater threat. A threat that, thankfully, still lay close at hand.”
While the sisters congratulate their youngest on her quick thinking, Mat-o-Peia mulls over the explanation and the lesson it holds. For, as second youngest, her turn must come next.
Even as they celebrate their narrow escape from death, the next mortal menace is bubbling up from the deepest recesses of the planet a thousand leagues away.
A soulless monster from the deepest abyss in the briny depth.
Born of deeper forces still.
Chapter 62. Tsunami
It is the trans-oceanic trench. Steepest valley under the sea. The ocean’s counterpart to the great rift valley ripped across the landscape of this world’s vast supercontinent.
Both share a common paternity.
Both are lasting scars of an ancient civilization’s war against the planet.
Both are casualties of the calamity visited on the natural world.
Unmistakable geologic manifestations of the echoes of a lost civilization.
Epitaphs of unbridled pollution.
Global disfigurations whose enormity even the voice in the tower could not foretell.
As holocaust consumed the world between the poles, it awakened a force from the very depths of hell. It was a slumbering tectonic demon, rudely jolted from its long sleep by rising temperatures in its stony cradle. Heat, its natural element, beckoned from the fiery world above.
Groaning mightily, the monster moved. Shifting to embrace the growing heat. Trying to sit up, to rise from its warming bed.
And that force welled upward.
Slashing.
Tearing.
Rending.
Opening vast thermal vents in both land and sea. But different in their violence.
The bedrock of the supercontinent was hot and becoming hotter. It soothed the tectonic monster. Caressed its primal urge.
The monster responded in kind, drawing a great ventral swath of heated rock to itself. And bleeding lava gently into the planet’s superficial wound.
The great rift valley cooled, overnight in geologic time, and became home to the earliest species to evolve after the death of the planet’s temperate zones. And its isolation walled off these life-forms from the surface world above.
But the floor of the great ocean remained cool. Insulated by many fathoms of water from the heat roaring across the supercontinent.
It angered the tectonic monster. Sorely disappointed by the lack of heat. Urging it to violence.
The monster shifted suddenly, creating a deep vent across the ocean floor. Causing lava to erupt along its entire length.
Great shockwaves of energy radiated upward. Gathering water. Feeding its own wave, a vast wall of water soaring a thousand feet above the surface of the sea and spanning the entire width of the great ocean.
The global tsunami raced with the energy of the cataclysm that spawned it. Reaching staggering speeds as it washed across the supercontinent. Seeking to cleanse it of all remaining life.
It is this event that crested over the mountain pass, onto the tarn-centered high plateau. Flushing out the creatures dwelling there and freezing them in time.
It is this event that drove the ancient civilization’s last survivors to the highest polar retreats on the planet.
The seismic wave was lost to a distant past. The tectonic monster retreated to its bedchamber in hell. But its legacy remained.
The trans-oceanic trench stretches thousands of leagues between the highest mountains, base to crest, on this distant moon. All submerged beneath the vast sea. All cloaked under the mantle of invisibility that is the ocean surface.
The sea is deceptively calm here. Unruffled by the streams that hug the shore of the supercontinent so many leagues away or by the swift oceanic currents far to the north and south.
Soon, these still waters will be stoked by an elemental force of nature. And soon, from its great depth, the malign force will rise to stampede across the ocean and sweep the surface clean of everything upon it.
Small bubbles on the deep-valley floor begin to grow large. What began as a simmer becomes a boil. And volcanic vents begin to emerge in a hair-like fracture running along the horizontal axis of the trench. Lancing hundreds of leagues in both directions.
Tendrils of rapidly cooling lava form lacework patterns beside the vents as the angry gash along the bottom of the trench widens. There is an abrupt explosion as a narrow vent fails to open quickly enough to relieve the pressure from below. A second blast follows that . . . then another . . . and another . . . until a great stretch of the trans-oceanic trench is in full volcanic eruption.
Incited by the volcanism that rudely interrupts its slumber, the tectonic demon stirs once more!
The still, calm surface of the sea far above is agitated.
A ripple rips across its serenity. The ripple begins to grow, fed by the explosive energy far below.
The
ripple becomes a wave hundreds of leagues wide. The spreading wave hesitates. Does not advance. Forms a stationary ridge of still water. And begins its steady climb—two feet, 20 feet more, higher still.
Then it moves.
Slowly at first.
Gathering energy.
Gaining momentum.
Rising from the sea like the monster it will become.
As it picks up speed and strength, it climbs higher. Quickly reaching 100 feet. Destined to tower 200 feet and more above the surface of the sea.
∆ ∆ ∆
Leaving the far side of the island, the seven sisters turn their craft in a new direction to take advantage of the following sea. The waters here are calm, but there is enough current to provide steerage.
Theirs is an endless journey of many days and many nights as the craft follows the gentle current.
The sisters quickly fall into daily routines of fishing, trapping rainwater and housekeeping activities. There is little else to do as the waters remain calm and they maintain headway in the gentle current.
The days are warm and tedious, made longer by the unbroken monotony of an empty ocean.
Adrift with memories of their vanished island, the sisters spend the hours lamenting the loss of old friends and sharing the promise of an unwritten future. Their venturesome spirit beckons them into the unknown world ahead, and they are excited by the prospect.
The nights are a time of starlight and wonder.
Sky and sea are alight with the silver fire of a thousand stars. An astral spectacle, pulsating as if alive. Reflected across a shimmering sea.
Silver embers, tugging at emotions. Igniting dreams of things that were, things that are and things that yet may be.
The seven sisters welcome the end of each day, with the departure of two suns whose glare washed the sky clean. They joyfully greet the stars that emerge into the black night. Crowding their craft’s open hatches, they bask in the cool air.
They wonder.
They wonder where the sea is taking them. And what waits for them there?
They wonder what six deadly perils lie ahead. And whether they will survive them?
They wonder if there are other islands. Or are they fated to drift aimlessly and endlessly in a water-world of no dry land?
They wonder if they are the end of their race. Or are there others like themselves?
They dream.
They dream of reaching a great island, so vast it fills the horizon. And of lush greenery bearing fruits and berries of every kind.
They dream of monsters and an angry sea. And of each sister’s own resolve for quick thought and bold strokes to vanquish both.
And they dream of others, like themselves but not the same. And of strange men who are quick of thought and deed. Comely as well as strong. Their equal in every way.
Pleasant dreams in starry nights.
Blissfully unaware of the nightmare that will come crashing down on them when dawn next arrives!
Mat-o-Peia has the first inkling of the towering monster bearing down on them. For she alone is troubled in her sleep this night. And she alone rises early to a tingling sensation along her limbs.
Thus, it is but a single pair of eyes that peer through the open hatch of the craft at the crack of dawn.
At a horizon so distorted, so elevated the sea appears to rise into a great grey cliff blotting out most of the sky behind it.
At first, Mat-o-Peia is too startled to be frightened. She is looking upon a scene eerily reminiscent of a day, many years earlier, when she thought she had lost her world.
As a small child, the sixth sister was restless and venturesome. Her older siblings were constantly searching for her as she wandered off. And one day, her roaming led her to a hidden glen, nestled among the cone-mountains.
Emerging from the forest, her eyes widened as she looked up and saw that the sky had shrunk to a small patch of light. Rocky prominences frowned down on the child from all directions. Neither of the two suns appeared in the small open gap above, and she feared both had run away and taken the rest of the sky with them.
When Mei-o-Peia found her second youngest sister, the child was badly shaken, pointing to the patch of light and lamenting the loss of suns and sky. Soothing her fears, the oldest sister led her back through the forest and into open sunlight.
Mat-o-Peia vowed to herself she would never return to the hidden glen. And she never did.
Yet, here she was again. Wide-eyed and wondering what had become of the dawning sky!
“Mei-o-Peia will know where it went,” she assures herself, withdrawing quickly from the open hatch and waking her oldest sister.
Rousting the others, they crowd the hatchway as an audible humming sound arises. It increases in volume and pitch until it becomes a full-throated roar.
Comprehending their puny insignificance in the face of the overwhelming, irresistible wall bearing down on them, Mat-o-Peia is reminded of the wee, delicate intertidal creatures that made their home on the shore of her island lagoon. So tiny she had to focus intently to discern their diaphanous presence. So tiny that even a small ripple of gentle wave upon that shore must have seemed colossal to their infinitesimal size.
As a child, she was fascinated by their ebb and flow, constantly retreating and advancing with the rise and fall of the waves. A keen observer, she noticed the creatures seemed to shrink into themselves and hug the sand each time a wave approached, entering at the base of its forward wall.
She also noticed the creatures that failed to stay low were smashed and riven by the crest of the waves. Their diaphanous, lifeless remains cluttering the sand in the wake of retreating surf.
Struck by the parallels to the peril the sisters face now, Mat-o-Peia knows instantly what they must do.
“To the paddles, quickly,” she shouts. “We must head directly into the approaching wall as fast as our strokes will carry us!”
This time, there is no hesitation. No questioning. Steering their craft toward the towering curtain of sea, the seven sisters paddle furiously. Directly into its black depth.
Their course is marked by the sudden appearance of a ribbon of phosphorescence, splashing across the surface of the sea, toward the approaching wall of water.
Withdrawing their paddles, the sisters take frantic gulps of breath just as they break into the wall and are swallowed in its airless depth.
The submerged craft rolls over and over. Pulled and tossed this way and that by irresistible forces propelling the tsunami. Clinging to the structural poles and enveloping fiber of the craft, the sisters ride the monster like a wrangler locked onto the horns of a raging brahma bull.
Only these wranglers cannot breathe.
They enter the seismic wall of water at its base, many fathoms below its towering crest, and the sisters’ survival is dependent on the buoyant properties of the wicker craft.
Will it float up to the surface far above before they drown?
Vaulting upward, they leave the black pelagic depth and rise into a glowing medium alive with phosphorescent creatures so minuscule they are visible only by the light they emit. The compartment of the submerged craft is aglow with the light.
Revealing every object in its place and the proximity of every sister.
Quick-thinking Mat-o-Peia reacts instinctively to increase their odds and, clutching the edge of the hatch with one hand, she begins jettisoning every solid object within reach.
It is not much. But it is enough.
Soon the craft surges to the surface amid the gagging and coughing of seven soaked and soggy surviving sisters.
Mei-o-Peia is first to speak: “That was a near thing and I, for one, feel as if I actually drowned and am now come back to life. I still taste the sea water.
“Mat-o now joins On-o as two who have met the silver maiden’s tests. We are five to go, and the challenges will grow harder. Although I cannot imagine what can be more formidable than the shadow-monster and the great wall of ocean.”
Fortunately, only a few non-essential items are missing. Jettisoned by Mat-o-Peia in the race to regain the surface air.
It is a wet, bedraggled, exhausted crew that falls out for sleep this night. As their craft resumes its slow journey. Propelled by the gentle current that embraces it.
The next leg of their journey is an uneventful voyage of many days and many nights. A voyage away from the two rising suns that greet each new morn. A voyage requiring no effort from the crew of the drifting craft.
While the days are warm and enervating, each night brings a coolness that energizes the sisters into long, wistful reflections on what has befallen them and into expectant, thoughtful speculation about what is yet to come.
Parsing every syllable of the night visitor’s message, they search for every bit of meaning, open and hidden.
While their immediate concern is for the trials of the sea which are yet to come, their greater wonder attaches to the Earth Spirit’s prophecy assigning them a role in renewing the world.
What does that mean?
The sisters are blissfully unaware the seismic event that unleashed the global tsunami awakened another monster from the depths of hell. An enormous creature driven from its lair on the abyssal plain far, far below the surface of the sea.
Chapter 63. Out of the Abyss
The mistress of this hadopelagic realm is a tentacled colossus whose limitless appetite is fed by every organic thing, living and dead, on the deep ocean bottom.
Whose immense bulk is replenished daily by a massive die-out of micro-organisms raining down from the margins of the oceanic currents, where contact with the carbon-rich dead zone takes an endless toll between every rising and setting of the suns. By a diet made richer in reaching out with long tentacles to ensnare bigger prey--the hapless demersal creatures unwise enough to journey down into her grasp.
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