Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

Around and around they galloped, a little further each time, pounding a circular path in the soil, and Julie honed her budding riding skills, while her Hypo learned how to read her signals. Truth be told, Julie thought as they raced along the ground, that he was one smart cookie, as intelligent as any animal she knew, if not more. A half-hour later, she was ready to get off, and she thought her Hypo was as well, for he was dripping wet under her. She glided him back to their starting place, all the while speaking to him, then, when he was stopped, she sat a moment and pet him. At last she slid one leg over and slowly dropped to the ground. Her thighs hurt, and, walking a few feet away, she sat down, then lay back in the grass. The Hypo walked to her and lowered its head to sniff at her face. Then walking off a few feet, it put its head down to graze.

  When Julie had recuperated, she walked to a small stream that wound its way through tree and glade. Her Hypo followed, and as she lay to drink of the cold water, he did the same. Then she stood and went back to her pack. She already had a name for her Hypohippus. It had occurred to her while she was still on his back, wind blowing his mane, and her own mane, behind them, warm sun on her skin.

  “Zephyr will be your name. A gentle wind from the West.”

  In the days before her big adventure with Zephyr, one of the things Julie had done to outfit the cave was the construction of a bed. She’d had enough of sleeping on the ground. Even sleeping in soft sand had its limitations. What she did was to gather small logs and branches, each similar in size to the other, and cutting the ends off, tied them together. When she had it, she lifted her framework of thin logs and set it on four “posts” of equal height. If one was a little taller than the others, she dug into the sand and buried it a bit until all were the same. Making the posts took a good deal of time as they were thick and hard to work, but, finally done, she tied them to the four corners. Next, she gathered some mud, and into that mixed dry straw. This she slathered in between the framework logs until the “platform” was whole and level. Following that, Julie piled a one foot thick covering of straw on top, then sewed together the washed and dried skins of various kills she found, fur side up. There were several layers of this, and another for the blanket. It took her a week to find enough skins. Zephyr kept his distance as she dragged the smelly things across the landscape, but did not otherwise seem terribly perturbed. And she had her bed.

  For her pillow, Julie found another skin, an especially beautiful and soft fur, and stuffed it full of Cattail cotton from the abundant, fluffy seed heads at the top of each plant. They pulled apart without difficulty and floated on the air with ease. When the time came for their replacement, she would let them go back to the wind and gather a fresh batch. Julie was aware that in the future the wearing of furs would be a sign of calloused indifference to the suffering and death of other living beings, but in her case she had not killed these animals. Too, there was not exactly a department store around from which she could obtain an alternative.

  It was oh so luxurious to have a bed for the night. By chance, the day after she finished, it began to rain. This rain, however, was no ordinary shower; it was a tempest. Big, billowy clouds, dark and foreboding, gathered, while a few ominous booms sounded distantly. Shortly, drops began to fall. When lightning flashed and thunder crashed, it fell harder, then pelted down, followed by a strong gale that tossed the trees outside to and fro, battering the wildlife, including poor Zephyr, who stood next to the cave mound. Fortunately, the hummock blocked the bulk of the winds that blew over the top, but when they changed direction, there was no such protection. As other horse species, he simply stood unprotesting in a semi-stupor with his head down.

  Julie, meanwhile, had a fire going inside her cave with wood she’d gathered days before. The smoke was easily sucked outside by the howling winds and over the lake. Safe and snug inside, she lay on her bed, sipping mint tea, and looked out, marveling at this wild Miocene monsoon. She wondered if it was another sign of the coming global deterioration in climate. The existence of a bed soon made her think of Tom since they both shared one back in the future. She prayed again for a miracle to bring him to her. Then she was asleep.

  It rained for two days. A warm, late summer rain. Yet, the world was on the cusp of change; gradually summer rains would end in the West, though they’d continue in the East. Then it would fall predominantly during the winter months.

  There was something about the moment, of sky filled with dark, heavy clouds, of rain coming down, sometimes gently, sometimes in torrents, cleansing the land, giving it life. Distant flashes. Rumbling, like French horns and bass drums. The always present sound of water falling into the lake from somewhere unseen. And in between all of that, the quiet. The peace. The delicious sounds of nature.

  When things calmed a bit, Julie picked her way along the banks in bare feet, wet mud oozing between her toes. She loved the feel of the water upon her skin. To her right, a few hundred yards away, was the herd of Zygos, their outlines blurred by the rain. Gray hulks, unmoving, like monuments. She walked toward the group of trees they’d been at previously. A strange mist was rising from the area. Curiosity, and a need to get out for a bit, impelled her. Along the way, there were blackberries to eat as they spilled over the sides of overhangs and ledges just feet from the waterline. Frogs leapt into the murky depths from their perches on rocks when they noticed her. Others droned from across the lake. A lone bird peeped blue notes rhythmically from the top of a tall tree.

  When she reached the stand of trees, she found, as usual, that the place was larger than it looked from the cave. It was a riparian gorge with riverine plants growing in abundance. Small, red berries, attractive to birds, possibly the same red fruit as those on the other side, dripped with moisture. There were grapes, too, which hung in big bunches from the trees above. She could see that the gorge continued on upslope as it cut back into the escarpment. Grape vine was thick within, where it was out of reach of the Zygos. Below, at the bottom, were the falls she’d perceived since arriving, a cascade of water pouring over a rocky shelf and into a deep limestone bowl. Steam rose up from these falls as they coursed over rocks. She reached out and touched it, then withdrew her finger, hot. The bowl had a turquoise color to it. Mineralization. Here, searing waters mixed with the cooler lake water. Hopefully, Julie stuck in a toe. It was wonderfully warm. It would make a fine bathtub, she thought.

  Something splashed and she looked up, then moved around the thicket to see what it was. Another splash. Legionarictis fortidens, a primitive otter-like critter. There were three of them. They were sliding down the wet, flattened grass of the highland on their bellies and straight into the lake. Then they’d swim and climb out and do the whole thing over again. Julie laughed. There was no obvious evolutionary reason, no survival need to do this that she knew of. They were simply having fun.

  The lake bent around a jut of land at the end. She walked to it. Here the main source of the water to the lake, a strong river, ran. Past it, hidden by the slope of the land, the lake went a bit further east, maybe a hundred and fifty feet, and terminated in a pointed bank of sand. In the water were a number of animals, but Julie couldn’t tell right off what they were. They were up to their necks and slowly milling around. She found a spot on a rock under a tree to sit and observe them.

  The shower, which had stopped, started again. One of the creatures spied her and began to slowly make its way toward the bank. It climbed out, then shook itself, which didn’t do a lot of good as the rain soon made it wet anew. An Oreodont. It was Ticholeptus. Julie guessed its weight at about three hundred and fifty pounds, a big one. Now it stood with its back to the water and waited for the rest of its kin to follow suit. They were in no hurry to leave, however. The one that waited now called to them, emitting a loud and un-melodic tuba-like bellow. Still, they remained. It continued to call, closing its eyes and lifting its head each time. Julie stuck her fingers in her ears. After a while, the beast gave up and walked back into the water to rejoin its group as if it had never seen
her.

  She walked under the tree and up the incline. It was open grassland here. Horses grazing. And there was Zephyr among them. He lifted his head and whinnied at the sight of Julie. There were other animals in the fore-distance over a small rise to her left. A group of five of them. Short, but heavy and powerful looking. Rhinos, Peraceras, all females. Julie clapped her hands involuntarily and took out her camera, snapping some pictures. These were the first rhinos she’d seen. She’d suspected that they would be rare on this side of the Sierras, and they were. It was a pleasure to finally see some, though. They browsed in equanimity, ignoring the rain, with their heads in the shrubbery. Though they grew up to half a ton, considerably less than other rhinos like Aphelops, still, they were big, and short-tempered enough to deter most attackers. Their young, on the other hand, were always in danger. But what these lighter weight rhinos lacked in bulk they more than made up for in agility. It would have to be a desperate animal to attempt a rhino-napping. And, indeed, there was a young one. It nibbled in the middle of the Peras. All females, she pondered again. The males are probably solitary.

  Julie began to sing. It was David Downes’ The Voice.

  The rain stopped and sun began to show behind the clouds. Eastward in the sky, a rainbow slowly formed. As she watched, it crept down to the earth. A vivid arc of color. She’d seen many since she’d been here, but this one in particular seemed especially bright, especially lovely. Perhaps it was the atmosphere — not just that in the sky, but the atmosphere here, in this special place.

  Birdsong abruptly sounded, a gliding, undulating melody full of ripples and swirls. Julie glanced up to see that it was the same bird on the same high branch as before. The one that only peeped. Now, though, it sang a much different song. Listening to it in awe, Julie thought that it must be the most beautiful song a bird had ever sung, there were so many variations, so many inflections in note and tone, all crisp and clear! The little bird was just singing its heart out. Singing, it seemed to Julie, for the pure joy of it. The song rang across the land, lifting spirits still dripping with wet. She tried to see what kind of bird it was, but it was too high in the tree. It looked about the right size though, and she wondered if it might be the late Miocene songbird Palaeoscinis turdirostris. If so, it was a bit early.

  Now that she was here, Julie had begun to dislike the cold, sterile, and often ugly scientific names for the many animals she had seen. Names that spoke of calloused objectification and dissection. Of bodies under pins, or behind bars. Certainly she would continue to use these names in her notes, but privately she had other ideas. The stunning beauty of the song made her think of the name Aria for this little one. And thus she named it.

  Another Aria began to sing from somewhere distant, answering the call of the first. They sang in concert then, each filling gaps in the other’s song.

  It was an extraordinary performance, and Julie wept for the splendor of it, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. She still could not believe that she was here, in this land of dreams, of her dreams. This is what life was supposed to be. For the first time in my life I know what true happiness is.

  And she knew something else: This was home.

  Chapter 30

  Tom had been following Julie’s leads daily for some time along the Temblor’s marshy shores, across rivers, through coastal fogs, and swaths of Taxodium / Nyssa forest, when the calls suddenly stopped. At first, when two, then three days went by with no return beacon, he panicked and thought the worst. Then he began to run. After six days with no contact, Tom was beside himself. He was also exhausted and sore. He’d taken several spills, and just the day before, had slipped and fallen from a fifteen foot bluff, landing on a hard sandstone slab and twisting his ankle. Now he was limp-walking. He knew that he’d been lucky though, very lucky; he could easily have broken a leg. On the seventh day he got his call.

  In a flash, he dropped his pack and whipped out the PinPointer to see Julie’s blinking green light. And there was Jaqzen’s red. He let out a cry of startlement and fell to his knees. Quickly, he switched on his own beacon. A few seconds later, green switched off, but not before he’d made a calculation. Jaqzen was now a mere 14 miles away from her, while Tom was 355.

  The next week was a repeat of the last, communications wise, and Tom concluded that Julie was intentionally limiting her calls for fear Jaqzen would find her. At the end of the week, she called from a different locale than previous, this time 20 miles southeast of the other. The third week she called from ten miles to the right of that one. And so it went. She was trying to keep Jaqzen guessing. Yet, even though she never signaled from the same place twice, in venturing out this way, in this spoke-like fashion, making her calls at the end of each spoke or trek, Tom was able to guess her probable base camp at the center of the hub. It alarmed him. He dearly hoped that Jaqzen had not figured it out as well.

  As they continued, the terrain beyond the marshlands began slowly to dry out. Fresh grass was now mostly burnt yellow or brown. Trees were also thinning, and the species changing. While oaks still dominated, pines and other such conifers were being supplanted by chaparral and broad-leaved sclerophyllous shrubs with hard, thick leaves that held onto water longer: Manzanita, Ceanothus, Silktassel, Coffeeberry, Sumac, Mountain Mahogany, Flannelbush, Toyon, Barberry and Tree Poppy. There were even a few Joshua Trees and cacti present. In the mountains though, starting at 1,000’ - 1,500’ to about 2,400’ were Madrone, Maple and Alder while below them were more Populus, some Maple and Sour Gum (Nyssa).

  The change worried Tom, as the availability of water for he and Little was lessening. It was still to be had, but the pools were spacing farther and farther apart. Further, the water quality was dropping as well. Where before they had no trouble finding clean sources, and the rivers and streams that fed them, now water was often stagnant and rivers nonexistent. At these water holes, Tom would drink as much as he could, always through his filter, and top up the bottles. Little, too, drank deeply, waiting, as instructed, for her human to clean it first. Then he would climb a hill to try to get a view of the way ahead. It didn’t look good. Tom wondered if he should set back out for the mountains again, but their distance and rugged appearance deterred him. So he decided to continue along the coast. He knew he couldn’t drink the water, but at least the weather was a little cooler.

  As the year wore on, the area of the shallow Temblor sea nearest the shoreline had begun to evaporate and turn boggy. Tom began to come upon the remains of various animals that had gotten stuck, perhaps trying to get at the green eel grass. Indeed, their own feet sunk in the mire, and they were forced once again to move inland.

  After a day of this, Tom was truly apprehensive. Though he could still see rain coming down in the mountains and valleys behind him, forward it looked only dry. The lowlands had not seen rain in over a month. Further, he saw none of the eastern rivers that normally ran to the sea. His worry was compounded by the increasing presence of sand dunes, remnants of an ancient beach? Evidently, there was a time when the shoreline was even higher.

  When the scenery had begun to change, Tom started to ration his intake of water. It wasn’t optimal, but he saw no other choice. As he was sweating more, he also upped his intake of salt and put some in Little’s water. But it was running perilously low, so he decided to try something else, something he’d once read about. Thor Heyerdahl, the famous archaeologist, in his journey across the Pacific on the Kon Tiki, when he and crew needed salt, they’d mixed fresh and salt water at a 60/40 ratio. Tom did the same. He’d drink it, while Little would have a separate container for fresh water.

  The girl looked to be suffering, with large gobs of drool hanging from her ever panting mouth. She was most definitely out of her element here. Still, she slogged on beside, then behind him. What’s more, neither had eaten since the day before, and hunger gripped their stomachs like a vice.

  By the third day, Tom looked again toward the mountains. Green was there, and that meant water. But they’d have t
o climb past the dry zone. It looked quite steep and angular, and he saw no way onward once they got there. If they got there. In the dust he sat and shook his head. Sweat and grime clung to him, smeared on his face. Dirt in his teeth. He refused to give into panic, yet they had only half a bottle of hot water between them. By the next morning it was all but gone.

  “So this is how we shall die,” he said dolefully to his friend. With that, he began to weep, shedding tears for Little who had so faithfully entrusted herself to him all this long journey. He wept for himself too and the loss of his hopes and dreams. But most of all, he cried for Julie, for now her help would never come.

  With that thought, a fierce anger seized Tom and he swore at himself, at his blasted self-pity. Commanding Little to remain where they’d stopped in the shade of a scraggly poplar tree, he stood, dusted himself off, then walked to and climbed a sand dune nearby, this one higher than the others. It was hard going. Seemed for every two steps he took up its side he slid back one. His face fell at the scene from the top. Baking brown land and sand almost to the horizon. Yet, squinting, hand blocking the glare, he saw that there was something else too. Far out there, how far out he couldn’t tell, but many miles away was what appeared to be — water. A large body of fresh water.

  Or was it a mirage? Rubbing the stinging perspiration from his eyes and off his brow, looking past the water, it seemed the land turned green and blue again. So this dry section had an ending? Hope wasn’t dead then. Yet.

  Who was he fooling, even if it was water, they’d never make it. Both were weaker than they’d been in a long time.

  To his right, out at sea, the distant fog had finally passed, and now he could make out the low slopes of what appeared to be an extended island chain, or perhaps it was one long range on the Temblor’s western side. It swept north out of sight and ran south, paralleling this thirsty land. He gazed again at the green far away.