Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  I’m tired of the chase. I need to rest. Need to sleep.

  Julie had continued heading north, toward the blue light. She’d seen no sign of Jaqzen for days and hoped that he was no longer on her trail. On the third day, in the afternoon, leaving her things lying on the ground where she’d dropped them, she strode into a large pool of steaming water, heated by the earth, by a magmas hot spot far below, for a bath. There she sat in thermal water up to her shoulders, head resting against a big rock in the middle, and promptly fell asleep.

  When she awoke an hour later, it was to the sound of growling and agitation. Turning her head to her left, she there saw one, no, two, no, three Cynelos, a species of Amphicyon, or “bear-dog”, all males weighing about 200 pounds each, pacing the bank not twenty feet away, glaring at her hungrily. They were not put off by the water, per se, but by the heat in the water. Now they growled and then hurled strange, muffled, throaty sounding barks. They also salivated, drooled, slavered and slobbered their desire to partake of her person. If she would be so kind as to make her exit from the pool, they could begin the feast. Julie though, as the potential feastee, was not quite as enthused about the prospect and stayed put, keeping a careful eye on the trio. So, stubbornly they patrolled, refusing to leave. A couple of times, one of them, bored with the wait, provisionally stuck in a foot, only to quickly withdraw it again. They walked clear around the pool, inspecting every inch for possible access, but found none.

  To be sure, after another hour, Julie wanted to leave, but the big beasts decided to lay down just outside of the water’s reach and wait her out. In a while, they were lying on their sides happily snoozing, and she stood, intending to head in the opposite direction, creeping out stealthily.

  Not stealthily enough, however. She stepped on a sharp rock and let out a yowl that woke them. In no time, they were running to that side and barking their strange, muffled bark. And thus, Julie retreated once more to the center of the thermal pool and sat, wrinkling skin and all. She tried her trick of throwing rocks at them from the boulder she sat at, but that proved to be ineffectual.

  Julie observed that they appeared to be none too bright, occasionally walking or turning into each other, which would set off a row of snarling and snapping. Each, in fact, had scarring across their backs and necks she observed, having first misinterpreted them as random stripes. She suspected that they were inflicted by the others. Were these a group of brothers that simply failed by chance to go their separate ways after weaning like most other animals, or was this groupism of older offspring a species trait of Cynelos?

  Another hour, and Julie was getting thirsty and tired of sitting. She knew there was a stream of fresh water nearby in a narrow, tree-lined couloir, for she’d drank from it earlier. Funny that when denied something, a person wants it that much more, and as time drifted by, she found that she was positively parched. The Cynelos had no such restrictions, and one or two at a time would head off to lap his fill, then come back to lie by the side of her pool once again. Julie, irritable, shouted at them. They replied. When she thought she’d have to sit there for the rest of the night, maybe the rest of her life, she was rescued when a family of oreodonts, Merychyus elegans, herbivorous cud-chewers, happened by. Their heavy bodies of between 150 to 250 pounds were striped tan and black. They were walking in a line along the high edge of the bank, not having seen the Cynelos.

  One of the Cys, hearing something, turned its head and stared at them a moment, closing its mouth as it registered these brazen party crashers. What it saw was food. It barked, and, forgetting all about Julie, loped after the Oreodonts. Its brothers followed suit, and the Oreos took off at a run, heading for the forest. In a moment, they were gone in a cloud of dust and Julie quickly stepped out of the pool, skin red, dried and dressed, then headed for the stream with her water skin. She drank and filled the pouch, then looking around her, went back to her things.

  Gathering them, she made her departure, lest her tormentors should happen to come back. It was another time when she wished that she’d kept one of the guns, not to kill the Cys, but to scare them off. On the other hand, she realized, that might bring worse, bipedal danger.

  It was with mixed feelings that she watched the Cynelos going after the Oreodonts. The latter were definitely on their way out by this time in the Miocene. An endangered species in paradise, but they had had their day. Nothing lasts forever. In time, the Cynelos, too, would be gone.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, the stretch of forest she’d been walking along ended and the land cleared ahead of her. Now it was rolling hills with only a few scattered groves and shrubbery here and there. Coming upon an abutment of grass-covered sandstone that rose gradually to highlands to her right, to the east, she spied the telltale shimmering that bespoke a body of water. Circling the mound, the lake, contained within a grassy, shallow-sided bowl, opened out before her. Julie, who had stopped to catch her breath, exclaimed in astonishment. Enchanting and elegant, it was better than comeliest park she’d ever seen in any book.

  The lake was small, as lakes go, maybe a half mile in circumference, but ever so lovely and inviting. A couple hundred yards from her, on the right, there was a small grouping of tall, broad trees, valley oaks, bowing over it. Curtains of lace lichen hanging from their branches waved gently in the cool zephyrs that whispered across the water’s surface, the moss barely touching it, but leaving tiny ripples when it did. There was a similar grouping on the lake’s other side as well, and bordering those, some large sandstone boulders. Shadows there were deep, enigmatic. In areas around the pond’s margin grew a low evergreen flora, which she could not make out exactly, except that there was an abundance of red berries. Farther toward the west were some low hills and oaks that tempted her explorer’s mind, and just the other side of them, the blue of the Pacific.

  Near the stand of trees on her right, a herd of giant Zygos were drinking and snoozing. There were seven of them. Behind the Zygos was a small band of horses, she couldn’t tell which they were though. Beyond them, the land rose and fell in gentle undulations. The grass was still green here. Green, but yellowing as the year wore on. Nonetheless, wildflowers were rife in a variety of colors; there were masses of small white flowerets, checkered by tall blue blossoms, sprinkled with red filaree and golden dandelion florets. Buzzing and fluttering over them all were bees and butterflies, both large and small. A river flowed into the lake at the far end from somewhere in the east and flowed out again not far from the sandstone abutment. It made a pleasant burbling, tinkling sound, not unlike wind chimes. On either side of the outflow was Cattail, Willow, Laurel and bunches of Mentha arvensis, or Wild Mint. From somewhere else came a sound of waterfall. Complementing these was the sunny trilling of field songbirds of an indeterminate class.

  Past the western side of the lake, on the open, lower meadowlands, were gatherings of a variety of fauna. Camelids — Procamelus, Cuyamacamelus and Protolabis. Each species keeping a discreet distance from the others. There were the usual peccaries including Cynorca and Hesperhys. Also drinking, lying and grazing a little farther out on the plains were Dromomerycidae, Barstovian antelope of the family with crazy, ornate antlers. She saw Subdromomeryx, Plioceros and lots of Merycodus.

  Hearing something over her right shoulder, Julie turned to see walking down the other side of the abutment toward her, a large Mustelid, Brachypsalis, an animal about twice the size of a wolverine and twice as fierce. She recognized it right away and backed up behind the mound, peeking around a corner to watch it. She didn’t think it was fast enough to run down its prey, perhaps relying more on the hide and pounce method. Fortunately, the animal did not spot her. As she watched, it walked along the face of the abutment, then disappeared through some unseen opening. A cave! From its hideaway, it had a good view of the entire lake and, after dusk, would sneak out, using its superior night vision to find and catch prey. Why it was out during the day, Julie could not guess.

  It was a mother. In a few seconds, it eme
rged from its den with a young one in its mouth. Not having seen Julie, it again walked around the rock face, up the hill, and was gone. Julie doffed her pack and climbed the mound on her side to follow its progression. The mustelid doddered on toward a grouping of trees and understory in the near distance until she did not see it anymore. It was vacating, likely because it worried its home had been discovered, probably by a male. If found, the male might kill the offspring of other males so as to bring the female back into estrus and thus sire his own.

  Tiptoeing back down the hill, Julie wanted to have a look at the babies. Digging out her flashlight, she hoped that she was right and wouldn’t be confronted by another adult inside. Carefully, she crept to the entrance. It was concealed by a tough manzanita and some weeds that grew through it. There was an opening that had been made by the comings and goings of Brachys, and possibly other animals that had called the cave home before them. The ground below was a smooth, shallow depression, worn by years of use.

  Julie called out softly. “Hello...” There was a sound of movement inside. She waited, ready to spring to her feet if need be, but nothing appeared at the opening. So Julie stuck in her head and flashlight arm, then switched the light on. The cave fell silent. Steadily she played the beam around the walls and floor, looking for the animals. Then she saw them. There were two cubs with short, tan-colored fur, looking quite young. They lifted their heads and still closed eyes in her direction. A whimpering note came from one. Maybe it thinks I’m mom, she thought.

  “Hi,” Julie whispered. At the sound of her unfamiliar voice, the whimpering stopped and the little bundles knitted together in an even tighter bundle. Julie smiled. Babies are so cute, even when they are going to grow up into fearsome predators. She shone the light above now and was surprised to see that the ceiling was high and the walls wide. The cave was spacious and deep, with shadows at a bend in the rear. Who knew how far it went? A person could stand up in it if she wanted to. An idea came to her. Better get out before the mother returns. Backing out, she stood and looked upslope. No sign of her yet. She walked the other way and again up the side of the mound. Ah! There she is now, doddering this way.

  Julie ducked down quickly and hastened to her pack. Taking it, she ran, half crouching to the small stand of trees near the river and hid there, turning around to watch the mustelid mother. Right on time, mom rounded the corner and ambled to the entrance of the cave. Mother then stopped and began to sniff the ground at the opening. She smelled Julie! Now she ran/doddered to the side where Julie had come down, sniffed some more, then back to the cave and went in. Momentarily she came out, now with two babies in her mouth. She wasn’t taking any chances. Looking around, the mother Brachy hurried off back upslope and to her new den.

  That left the cave free for a new tenant - Julie! The opening was wide enough for her to slip in if she crawled on her stomach and the inside was surprisingly clean. Apparently, Brachypsalis was a tidy house keeper, removing offal and uneaten foodstuffs so as not to attract predators, insect or beast. Like the other cave, this one had a thick sandy floor. Shining her flashlight around, she spotted a couple of bats, miniature ones, their heads shaking nervously at her presence. She could put up with them if they could her.

  The cave could not have come at a better time. Bone tired and ready to drop, Julie propped her pack in the opening to block it and smoothed out the sand. Then she lay down and slept.

  When she woke, it was night. Flicking on the light, she saw that the bats were gone. Oops, the pack! She’d used it to block the entrance. Then how had they gotten out? Julie looked the other way; must be an alternate exit. Moving the heavy thing, she wriggled out of the cave and stood, looking at the lake. A full moon reflected from its tranquil surface, yet occasional ripples there bespoke tiny water nymphs. Down its center, a gauzy mist rose, wispy like a chimera. Frogs croaked in tenors and altos. She went to an area behind the willows and relieved herself, then walked to the top of the grassy mound, which was her cave and sat, feet dangling over the side. In the meadows to the right were zippings of luminescence, whites, off-whites, reds and blues. Julie smiled and breathed deeply.

  The eastern mountains were high and dark. In the long canyons below the summits was darker forest, while in the cold, fragile air above, still darker clouds drifted. A flash of light within. There would be another rain soon. Perhaps that was why it was still mostly green here. Tall mountains held onto clouds longer than low ones.

  A star shot across the sky, and she made a wish.

  The dawn air was crisp, and, outside the entrance of her new apartment, Julie stretched lazily. Again, the morning coolness bespoke the coming cold. Antarctica already had an ice sheet, but in a million years or so, with the opening of the Drake Passage and the establishment of a circumpolar current which concentrated the frigid temperatures at the South Pole, eastern ice would begin spread west. Other currents would then carry cold water north and world would begin to cool.

  Though clouds continued to gather on this side of the mountains, the sky was still mostly blue. Sunlight shone down from behind the grassy mound and glistened off the water. It reflected back in her eyes, which she blocked with a hand. An ensemble of damselflies, like dwarf dragonflies, only slighter and more delicate, alighted on rocks being lapped at by the waters of the lake. They were blue of body. When one lifted off, another would too, then they would joust in the air a foot above, and land again. They seemed to favor these particular rocks, and even when gone for a minute or two, would return repeatedly to them. A big orange-bodied dragonfly now came by, hovered motionless in the air, then was off in a flash after a bee.

  Julie noticed something — whitish — sticking, half-buried, out of the face of the abutment that she’d not seen before. Walking to it, she saw that it was a fossil, a skull, an unusual one - carnivoran, with horns. Her mouth opened in wonder. Although her focus was the Barstovian, she was somewhat familiar with animals from other eras too. This one was unknown to her, and probably unknown to science.

  She stepped back and looked anew at the grassy mound, then strode forward and brushed away the surface dust. Strata, layers of sedimentary rock laid down horizontally in ages past, were now slanted at a 30 degree angle. An angular unconformity, it spoke of a time when some geologic process, such as an earthquake, had shoved the land up. The tilted strata would continue below ground for who knew how far. She looked along the plane of the abutment and now observed other similar mounds stretching out for some ways, perhaps half a mile, and nodded. At one time they’d made up a single unit, perhaps an imposing mountain range, dignified and majestic, but now eroded to these humble above ground remnants. Yet, through it all, this skull had survived, bone slowly replaced by rock. In another hundred thousand years, any sign of the previous range would be gone.

  She could not guess the age of the skull, but knew it must be old - as must the cave whose wall it was in, for it had taken a very long time for water to carve it. A familiar urge now arose in her. The urge to uncover and discover. To learn and know. To understand the secrets of the earth. To give body to this beast and remember it. To honor it and the earth from which it sprang. A wondrous planet. As her old icon, Stephan J. Gould, said, a Wonderful Life.

  On the other hand, she was on a journey; charming as this place was, she couldn’t stay. She’d have to let it go. The thought made her sad.

  The sound of running hooves made her look up. Horses. Julie went and got her binocs. Focused. Parapliohippus! In a cloud they ran, creating a rumbling that sounded like thunder. It was a solid, yet, soft-edged sound, which she found agreeable. As a prey animal, horses were easily spooked and were running all the time. It could be something as small as a wasp sting. Once one was off, the rest were as well.

  In a minute, the dust was clearing. One of the horses was still there, however, just standing. She thought that strange and continued to watch, then realized that this was a different horse. Not a Parapliohippus at all, this was a larger Hypohippus. On its rump were di
agonal stripes of black on semi-shaggy chestnut fur. Slowly, the Hypo began to walk. The stride was irregular and jerky. It was limping. Julie exclaimed in sadness. A wounded prey animal would not last long in the wild.

  Without a thought, Julie set out to see if she could get a closer look. Maybe there was something she could do. When she climbed upslope of the lake, the animal turned its head to look at her. It stared for a while, then gazed back at the herd of Paras, by now several hundred yards distant. They’d stopped to graze once more. The Hypo again turned to regard Julie’s approach, then began to walk, painfully, toward the herd of Paraplios. It was hard for Julie to watch. Step after agonizing step it went, getting slower with each footfall. Finally it could not go on and ceased its halting gait, turning to see Julie, distress in its eyes. As she advanced, Julie could see the wound. Dried blood encrusted its left flank and ran all the way to its three-toed hoof. The leg did not look broken, though, or like a predator attack. She wondered what could have caused it. A puncture? Additionally, the Hypo’s hooves were seriously worn and cracked, the result of having run a long way. The sweat of exhaustion, of fear, wet its coat.

  Closing slowly, Julie began to talk to the horse. “Hi, sweetie. What happened to you?” she said as she approached. Its eyes wide with apprehension, the horse uttered a warning that it could not back up. It tried once again to walk, but stopped, unable to go on. As she moved toward it, it turned its head forward again, making no move against her. Then, ears drooping, it dropped its head. It was giving up. As she approached, it closed its eyes.

  When she realized what had happened, Julie began to cry, to weep for this innocent made victim by a thoughtless act of cruelty. Inwardly, though, she was red with rage. In shock, the horse made no move as she probed its hip, looking inside. Seeing the bullet, she at first startled in disbelief. Then she knew. When she had used the herd as a shield against Jaqzen, days prior, she’d heard gunfire. This poor animal had been his victim. He’d taken the bullet meant for Julie. In fear he ran, through waves of pain, ran to keep up with his clan, then beyond when the pain didn’t stop. How many miles, she didn’t know. A lot though. Julie, her arm around the dying horse, cried, her tears mixing with his blood.