It seems no time at all when she returns to the ground and, taking the lead, doubles back the way they came. The narrow corridors are lined with the wriggling black bodies of creatures feverishly burrowing into the banks of loam. But the sisters are neither threatened nor harassed in their haste to quit this closed, confined place.
A silver glow illumines the polished pathway that led them here, and their long legs propel them swiftly along the now-deserted corridor to the beach.
As they gather, breathless, around the wicker craft, Lin-o-Peia explains:
“From the height of the tall bamboo stalk, I was able to see the futility of escape in any direction save that which brought us to that evil place. The narrow pathways turn in every direction, but they are blind alleys, leading always to dead-ends. Indeed, the only way out appeared to be the way we came in. And, as I watched, a ribbon of silver light unfurled along the pathway toward the beach. Beckoning us once more.
“The black creatures from the sea seemed intent on burying themselves in the banks of every lane I could see. I also saw the swaying of giant bamboo reeds as something very large was making its way through.
“The giant lizard seemed to be herding the wriggling creatures along the narrow paths. Doubtless, it was the author of the deafening roar.
“While there is daylight, let us redouble our effort to make this craft seaworthy and leave this accursed shore!”
As the sisters work feverishly to repair the wicker craft, the maze they so recently quit is become a charnel house!
Dimetrodon is patrolling every narrow lane, snapping up the black creatures as they emerge from the burrows in which they laid their eggs.
It is a ritual that repeats itself every fortnight. When the twin suns come into alignment across the bamboo forest from the shore. Generating an intense light that draws dimetrodon from its lair to herd the wriggling black creatures out of the sea for their pilgrimage to the monster’s maze.
To the devil’s own nursery. Where eggs are deposited in the protective custody of the giant predator. Who will urge the hatchlings along into the corridor running to the beach. In the certain knowledge they will return one day to lay new eggs and to sacrifice their bodies to its sanguinary appetite.
Like the web-creatures and barracuda fry in the river caves beneath the great supercontinent, theirs is a grim bargain. Securing protection for the next generation of black amphibians in exchange for their mature flesh!
The two suns separate themselves in the morning sky as they rise the next day over a tiny craft pushing off from the barb island. Seven flanged poles dip a lively cadence in the water, as their bearers labor mightily to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the realm of dimetrodon, the maze-herder.
The typhoon has scrubbed sea and sky, as the new day dawns clear and bright. Rekindling hope and adventure in seven heaving bosoms.
But farther to the west, the fury of the storm is not yet spent. The trailing tower of violent wind and rain is descending on the battered Great Northern Fens.
Chapter 68. A Changed World
Whoosh!
The brothers are startled awake by the deep-throated intake of the approaching back wall of the typhoon as it aspirates the air around them. Making it difficult to breathe in the uncanny stillness.
They are gathered on a wedge-shaped rise of silt. Forming a vee at the intersection of two streams flowing southward. Carrying the spill-off from the headwater of the wider river they have followed here.
Aside from the high banks carved out by the expanding eastern and western branches of the river, it is the only elevated patch of land within sight on the vast open fens. Keeping them high and dry from the watery bog, but dangerously exposed to the storm sweeping in from the east.
But there is neither wind nor lightning, and they dismiss the oppressive air as some harmless outer band of high pressure spawned by a tempest whose fury already is spent. They read little immediate threat from the night-time darkness and the eerie sucking sound that awakened them but now is gone.
While he shares his brothers’ lack of urgency, Adam is wary of their exposed position should the passing band bring more high winds.
Leaving the wedge of high ground between the streams, Adam and his brothers plunge into the western branch away from the approaching storm. Wading across the shallows onto the bank on its opposite side.
Adam is resolved to follow the emergent river south seeking a safer place for them to shelter. But the floodplain beyond its elevated bank remains flat and featureless as they journey through the night. Crossing countless streams rushing to join the main western river. Until the opposite bank disappears into the gathering clouds of grey mist racing in from the east.
“There!” Japheth cries out, breaking the heavy silence. Pointing westward, he exclaims: “I see the outline of something higher, rising out of the fens.”
The brothers immediately strike out to the west. Hoping this singular feature will afford them shelter before the slow-moving cloudbank catches them on the open floodplain.
There is groundwater everywhere and, although shallow enough to wade, it slows their progress. Making their race to stay ahead of the storm a near thing.
Meantime, their destination takes ever-clearer shape, revealing a thickly wooded hammock.
The travelers have reached the timeless remnant of an ancient stone forest.
Fossilized reminder of an ancient past when thick woodland covered the coastal plain from the northern polar region to the equator. Before the Great Melt and the cataclysm that opened the planet’s pores to release its wellspring of sweet water from subterranean river caves onto the fire-scarred surface of the world.
The wind-stunted trees have tremendous trunks that shimmer in the moist air. And the ground between them is heavily littered with the petrified deadfall of their ancestors, creating a stone-like fortification on the elevated mound.
The exhausted brothers reach the hammock just as the sinister cloudbank reaches them. And swallows the petrified redoubt.
The brothers take shelter in the protective embrace of the deadfall. Hunkering down to wait out whatever the bank of fog may bring.
They do not have long to wait!
Suddenly, the darkness is pierced by lancing columns of lightning. Pursued by sheeting rain. And winds so strong they make the prodigious tree trunks shudder as they blast off great shards of mineral-bark. And hammer against petrified deadfall as they howl in rage.
Neither lightning nor rain nor wind can dislodge the brothers as they huddle down on the lee side of the sturdy fallen trunks and limbs turned to stone.
It is the noise, and the noise alone, that perturbs them. The fever-pitched shrieking of the typhoon that drowns out all other thoughts in the hours of its passing. And it is the eventual abatement of its howls that signals the weakening of the storm.
As the heavy rain stops, the mist hurries toward the west to leave two suns shining down upon a changed world!
The hammock is the only dry ground remaining in the vast floodplain. It is surrounded by deep water stretching out of sight in every direction.
The brothers are marooned on this hammock. Surrounded by the mute stone sentinels of a bygone age. Trapped by rising floodwaters that are lapping at the edges of the sandy elevation.
Steadily eating away at the insubstantial margins of their refuge from the deluge!
Chapter 69. Sea-Wolves
The sea to the east grows calmer as tidal wavelets push the frail, ill-repaired craft around the point to the western, lee side of the island. Where the northern continental cross-current picks it up and bears it westward toward the immense bay that is the great ocean stream’s destination.
Its loosely tethered ribs creaking ominously, the wicker craft drifts on as the sisters wonder if it can withstand even the least storm or predatory creature of this savage sea. But none regrets their haste in putting to sea as quickly as the craft could be floated to escape the death lurking in the gi
ant lizard’s maze.
Apprehension soon abandons their thoughts as the sea remains placid and only varieties of small, delicious silver fish are found teeming in the current bearing them ever westward.
It is a journey of seven days and seven nights. Of rest and recuperation. Of hope and plenty as they feast on the bounty of the sea and the fresh, sweet waters of the sky falling gently into their gourds in the early rays of each new day.
It is on the morning of the eighth day when heavy fog envelops the craft and an unsettling presentiment puts Em-o-Peia on edge.
“Sisters,” she cautions, “stand ready at your lances. I fear this fog.
“It is evil. It shrouds our senses from menace, be it from sea or sky, from storms above or creatures below.
“It is silent. It is invisible.
“Yet, I feel it. And it is near!”
Her warning is interrupted by the soft slap of wave upon stone. Echoing through the fog. From the starboard side of the craft. Suddenly, the frail craft stops. Spinning around from a fixed point larboard. Like flotsam caught up on a snag.
As seven lances are hefted, the fog begins to thin. Dissolving into wispy tendrils of smoky dampness.
When the curtain parts, the outline of tall, craggy cliffs takes shape. Rising from deep ocean on the port side of the craft. Towering into high, cloud-like fog.
The craft itself is caught between vertical folds of slick rock at the base of the soaring cliffs. Sheer abutments that are joined a hundred feet above the sea. Forming an archway into the light-filled ocean to the west.
The sisters are awed by the profusion of pale colors suffusing the serrated columns of stone on both sides.
While the base of the cliffs is steel grey, ribbons of yellow and greenish hues paint the rock at succeeding elevations as far as the eye can see. Refracting grey and yellow chroma. Their greenish overtones casting a pastel patina upon a painted sea.
Gawking at the perfect geometry of the archway they pass beneath, the sisters are filled with hope that this is the gateway to the destination the Earth Spirit foretold. Surely, they reason, the cliffs are a harbinger of land. And they are relieved that this will mark an end to the perils of the sea.
Their relief is premature!
And Mei-o-Peia knows it. Feels it in her bones. Confronts it in her thoughts. Sensing her sisters’ wishful thinking, she breaks the silence.
“We are not free of this savage sea yet,” she observes, “for I have not been tested yet. And mine will be the greatest peril of all!”
As the craft emerges from the archway, it drifts southward along the western base of the cliffs. They are sheer, as far as the eye can see, offering no harbor or place to land.
Focusing on the far cliffs, the distracted sisters fail to see the lower bluff wedged between the tall cliffs on the near point of the western edge of the archway they are leaving.
Nor do they espy the fearsome creature standing watch there. Leering down at them from the hidden rise.
Until a blood-curdling howl echoes from the cliffs. And whitecaps well up in the sea around them where there is no wind.
Stone columns jut down like pincers from the western flank of the cliffs. And dire sea-wolves dwell on the lower bluffs along the crags. Preying on creatures swept into the archway by the great northern cross-current.
The sentinel wolf stands vigil upon the highest bluff. Alerting his fellows the hunt is afoot.
It is into this trap the frail craft has drifted.
Looking up, Mei-o-Peia is appalled by the gruesome image of the sea-wolf. Reflections off the ecru rock make its eyes flame yellow, like the pale glowing embers of intense fire.
It stands twice as tall as she. Its long, hair-covered front legs are propped on wide paws that are webbed. Broad, flat flukes take the place of rear legs.
Otherwise, its body is identical to that of the great dire wolf that terrorizes the northern and southern plains. The same wolfish jaws, the same long, needle-sharp teeth for rending flesh.
But the sea-wolf has something its plains cousin does not!
A neuro-toxin administered through its hollow front canines to immobilize its aquatic prey. One nip can paralyze and prevent the swifter, evasive sea creatures from shoaling away.
The toxicity of their bite offsets the sea wolves’ primary disadvantage.
While they look fearsome, they are in fact abject weaklings--sheep in wolves’ clothing lacking both quickness and physical prowess. Slow swimmers, they rely on the densely packed numbers of schooling fish to nip the occasional laggard that fails to dart swiftly enough out of their way. Relying on toxin alone to immobilize their prey.
As the sisters look on in horror, the whitecaps disappear. The sea around them begins to boil. As sea-wolves begin scaling the wicker skin of their craft.
Seven lances strike out at the groping bodies, many howling their death-agony as they fall back, lifeless, into the sea.
The wolves are unable to penetrate the wicker craft.
Until one reaches the mat securing the sternward hatch and manages to pry it open!
Whereupon several drop into the craft and nip the sisters before succumbing to the death-blows of their lances.
Leaping abaft, Mei-o-Peia quickly closes the hatch, securely lashing the mat in place. When she turns back to rejoin the battle, all the sisters are down while but a single wolf remains.
One deft thrust consigns the creature to its afterlife. As its fellows on the outside of the craft slip slowly back into the sea.
And the ocean glows silver along a narrow lane trailing westward.
Mei-o-Peia quickly checks the pulse of each of her sisters. All are breathing softly. All appear to be asleep.
But try as she will, she cannot wake them.
Sensing no immediate danger from her sisters’ steady breathing, she seizes a flanged pole. Using it as a rudder to keep the craft on a westward course. Propelled by the cross-current.
The next morning, the ecru cliffs have disappeared into white mist behind the drifting craft. With the sisters sleeping peacefully, Mei-o-Peia throws open the aft hatch and jettisons the stiffening corpses of the slain sea-wolves.
Then, she settles down to her post at the rudder. Keeping the craft on its westward course. Frequently checking on her sisters, confident each time that they are breathing easy.
On the morning of the third day, Mei-o-Peia is awakened by the soft sighs and unsteady movement of six feline forms stretching into wakefulness. Overjoyed, she hugs each waking sister in turn.
As two suns rise across the sea behind them, the morning rays reflect off the riverine sparkle of a broad delta on the starboard side of the craft.
The seven sisters are famished—hungry and dehydrated—and rejoice at the prospect of fresh water and game.
In this first sighting of level, boundless land after their peril-fraught journey across a savage sea.
Chapter 70. Separated
As night falls over the fens, so does the flood around the hammock of stone trees.
Exhausted from their encounter with the storm, and reassured by the steady retreat of the water, the seven brothers settle in for their first uninterrupted sleep in days.
They awaken, hungry but refreshed, to the dawn of a crisp, clear day. As bright sunlight shimmers off the placid surface of the floodplain. Winking back at them in lively reflections of silver and gold.
During the night, the water has receded nearly to its former level, and the river reclaims its contrast with the shallow floodplain that flanks its banks.
Leaving the hammock, the brothers resume their trek south along the western bank. Following the clearly defined waterway.
“This river is rushing with much greater urgency,” Adam points out to his brothers as they gather under a thick willow tree next to the wide stream. “Even the character of the land is changing.
“They may be signs we are nearing the end of the Great Northern Fens.”
Anxious to explore and learn
what lies beyond the fens, the brothers eagerly resume their course southward and, with lances in hand, they joyfully follow the river through this beautiful, shaded landscape.
It is a journey that will lead to a destination they cannot suspect. To the precious prize that will renew a world.
The river continues to widen as the brothers follow it south. Marching along its western bank while the two suns yet ride high in the sky.
But the margins of the river are awash in shallow water, and they must keep a sharp eye on the submerged ground to avoid slipping into the main channel’s depth.
Without pause, they slosh along until they reach a narrows bridged by a great, fallen tree. The rushing river’s waters are being forced through a tight space, turning it into a raging, whitewater rapid.
The fallen tree’s branches are on the western riverbank, while its trunk is anchored by roots in the eastern bank.
“We best cross here,” Adam tells his brothers. “Our destination lies to the unexplored east, so we must gain that side of the river. This tree, lodged across these narrows, may be our only way across.
“I will cross first, to test its stability. Then, you may follow.”
As he crosses, the angry water is eating away the soil around the roots. And the tree is sucked into the torrent as he leaps onto the far bank.
Thus is Adam separated from his brothers!
Hailing them from across the impassable river, he urges his brothers to continue south. Hoping to find another narrows where they may cross.
It is a fateful choice!
Chapter 71. Land’s End
Instead of thinning to a narrows they might safely cross, the river continues to widen. Fed constantly by the many shallow streams and rivulets the brothers wade through in their trek south.
Many leagues farther on, the river has broadened so much the brothers can barely make out Adam pacing them on its eastern shore. Until it forks into two rivers—one continuing to flow south while the other branches farther west.
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