Paradox Moon: The First Book of Regenesis

by D. Scott Dickinson

  Cresting a low ridge, he comes upon a vast crater forcefully sucking in the cold, surrounding air.

  Falling on his stomach to create a low profile to avoid being pulled into its vortex by the violent eddies of icy wind, the leader summons all his strength to regain the ridge. He heads back to the band, resolved to give this place of howling wind and unbreathable air a wide berth.

  He is unaware of the complex geology and critical function of the wind-pulling cavern.

  Of its existential role as one of the planet’s great atmospheric scrubbers, constantly cleansing the icy air of carbon-rich molecules.

  Of its catalytic influence in pulling the cold air into the subterranean system of endless interstices that force it across the fiery magma racing beneath the moon’s rocky surface in a global network of convectional streams and currents.

  He is unaware the planet he inhabits is itself a giant organism, breathing in the cold air at the margins of his frozen world and expelling it through vast craters dotting its tropical equator.

  That is a truth he will encounter much later when his band enters the thick, steaming jungles of the equator. For now, the leader is untroubled by such thoughts as he makes his way back to rejoin his fellows beside the sea.

  The band has ranged beyond the farthest reach of their experience into a bleak and forbidding world.

  The leader makes them hew to the shoreline, knowing the familiar sea is a certain source of food, while the unfamiliar permafrost earth yields water sufficient to the travelers’ need.

  But the ready availability of food and water cannot blunt the stark monotony of the landscape or assuage the band’s melancholia and despair as they trudge through this unknown land.

  They are strangers in a strange world.

  And it will become stranger still.

  After an endless trek across the level, permafrost ground, the landscape begins to take on new features of its own. The frozen earth softens, liquid pools emerge, and a piedmont landward horizon breaks the flat monotony the travelers leave behind.

  But the most dramatic feature is the harsh, glaring light in the distance ahead. The leader knows the shoreline the band has been following must lead them there. While the bright light hurts the leader’s reactive, dilated eyes, he senses that, by itself, the light holds no menace for the band. So, he urges them on--ever farther from the hot, flaming valley they fled.

  The light becomes more intense with each step they take. It is not long before the leader signals the band to stop and rest while their eyes become accustomed to the glare.

  Then, there occurs a change the leader could not have expected!

  Shadow bleeds across the horizon ahead as the glare slowly vanishes and darkness blots out the distant features of the sea and land before them. Soon, the band find themselves in a place beyond their experience—total darkness in the world around them.

  Gone is the constant ambient glow of their own world. They are terrified as the deep shadow surrounds and swallows them.

  The leader halts the band and, after a short march inland, they huddle together in fear of the blackness around them. Overcome with the fatigue of their trek and the stress of their situation, the band is soon fast asleep.

  The leader is first to awaken, and he rises to an astonishing new world.

  The light has returned, nearly blinding in its intensity. As the leader lifts his eyes skyward, they are greeted by a pair of brightly glowing blood-red spheres suspended in the heavens above him.

  The habitual wide dilations of his pupils are reduced to narrow black slits as they try to shut out the blinding light. Gradually, the leader is able to focus on the land around him.

  It is unlike the world he has known.

  Gone are the ubiquitous layers of fog above and ice below. The familiar blue-green of the sea and black-to-white hues of the monochrome polar landscape they are leaving are drab reminders of his lost world.

  His eyes widen as he gazes at the unimaginable breadth and variety of colors painting the landscape from this shoreline path to the distant foothills beyond.

  Like the two heavenward orbs, the land captures the vivid reds of a profusion of wildflowers crowding the shoreline path. At the other end of his visible spectrum, the leader marvels at breathtaking shades of violet adorning the upper reaches of the shrubs carpeting the distance between the sea and the inland foothills running parallel to its shoreline.

  But this unfamiliar display of dazzling colors is not the primary object of his attention.

  It is the towering forest at the foothills’ crown that tugs at his senses and his curiosity. It is a heliotrope wilderness of medium to reddish purple that dominates the horizon of this strange world.

  The foothills are dotted with roaring cataracts of water gushing from the purple forest and raining down on the violet shrubland below. The leader is astonished by the multi-colored arcs chasing the shimmering mist rising from the base of every foothill.

  As the leader gazes in awe at the spectacle of color that surrounds him, the air becomes hot and uncomfortable. Feeling the threat of unmitigated exposure to the scorching intensity of two suns, the leader shakes his band awake and points urgently toward the distant waterfalls and the forest that is their source.

  Refreshed from their rest and seeking escape from the oppressive heat, the band strikes out at once for the nearest foothills and the heliotrope wilderness. As they make their way beneath the violet canopy of the shrubland, the band makes a discovery that will sustain them in their separation from the sea they are leaving behind.

  Following the banks of a broad river connecting the nearest waterfall with the sea, the band arrives at a wide pool roiling with the crisscross movement of sharp fins.

  Recognizing a familiar prey, the leader and his two fellow hunters kneel beside the turgid water and, with fang and talon, seize enough of the small finned creatures to feed their fellows. Thus does the river become the band’s inexhaustible source of food as they abandon the sea in their landward quest.

  Darkness converges as the band reaches the first waterfall, and its misty rainbows wink out one-by-one. This waterfall conceals a large cavern so like the band’s home in their glacial valley they feel a welcome to the place and crowd into it as one.

  As they huddle inside the entrance, blackness occupies the world outside.

  And the leader and his band rest within.

  At first light, the leader rousts the band and leads them to a gently sloping hillside he marked when they were approaching the cataract. The band climbs the slope, single file, to the foothills’ heights and the wall of heliotrope forest above.

  Continuing along the same riverbank, the band plunges into the unknown wilderness.

  The river divides the great wall of towering trees and ushers the band out of the glaring brightness of two suns into a canopied realm of nuanced, ambient purple. Heartened by their escape from the blinding light outside, the band experience their first comforting assurance of optimism and hope since fleeing the fog-shrouded fastness of their polar home.

  The river guides them through a riot of glossy, brightly colored mega-flora.

  Towering ferns of scarlet and green.

  Broad-leafed philodendrons of yellow and orange.

  Thick, interlocking stalks of reddish-brown bamboo.

  And gargantuan blossoms of every color and description.

  The members of the band are awed by the riot of colors and dwarfed by the immensity of the mega-flora wearing them.

  Spellbound by the unaccustomed display of color in the giant blossoms all around them, they do not perceive the mortal threat flitting on silent wings in the heliotrope canopy above them. Nor can they know the wary, winged beasts have themselves been startled momentarily by the strange and sudden appearance of bipeds where none has trod before.

  Oblivious to the threat hovering high overhead, the band treks on—sticking close by the bank of the river until, finally, the river begins to narrow and the leader become
s vaguely aware of a muted roaring noise he has heard before.

  He knows the river will end soon, and it will end in a crashing fall.

  He continues to follow it until the faster-flowing river drops out of sight with a deafening roar. The band pulls up short at the edge of a deep abyss and stares at the crashing base of the waterfall and a gently winding river flowing away to disappear at the far end of the steep canyon floor far below.

  The canyon walls are striations of bright reds, pinks, yellows and black as they trace the parallel course of the fleeing river.

  Chapter 3. The Breathing Towers

  The leader spots an alternating series of small plateaus dotting the rocky surface behind the cataract, and the band begins its descent toward the riverbed below. While the numerous outcroppings provide safe and easy passage, they end abruptly at the mouth of an open cave high above the valley floor.

  The band retreats inside the cave and rests there as darkness overtakes the world outside.

  When light returns, the leader motions the band to the rear of the cave and into a wide, downward-winding tunnel. It seems no distance at all before the band emerges onto the banks of the canyon river. There, they are relieved to find an ample number of the finned beasts that have sustained them on their journey from the sea.

  Sated and refreshed, the band sets out in the direction of the river’s flow. As they follow the river around its farthest bend, they are discouraged by what they see.

  The river vanishes into the steep, rocky surface that encloses a box canyon. The travelers can find no way forward or upward. They have run into a towering stone wall, and it cannot be scaled or passed.

  Forlornly backtracking to the tunnel entrance, the leader takes them to the hidden cave. There, he leads them into a new tunnel, leading upward and in a different direction from the first. This time, the band’s trek is arduous and slow as they climb ever upward to an unknown destination.

  Finally, the band emerges onto a vast mesa of a blackness so deep they fear it may swallow them in its inky void.

  They step gingerly onto the ebony surface, extending each foot tentatively to test its solid feel, until they arrive at a scene that diverts their attention from the unearthly appearance of the darkness beneath their feet.

  Everywhere the band looks, there are high conical towers of yellow earth, each perfectly symmetrical and each identical to its neighbors. As the band approaches the nearest towers, they make an even more surprising discovery.

  The towers are breathing!

  Some seem to be whispering softly. Others are whistling in hushed tones. But all are breathing in, and all are breathing out. The towers are riddled with open pores that suck in and push out the captured air around them.

  Curious, one of the hunters extends a talon and pokes at the yellow earth covering the nearest tower. Like opening Pandora’s box, trouble erupts with immediacy and without warning.

  As the talon makes contact with the tower, it begins to shiver.

  Suddenly, a vast horde of six-legged creatures begins pouring out from the pores around its base. So numerous is the horde that the black earth turns blood-red from the creatures’ pulsating bodies.

  The nearby towers begin to quiver in turn. Soon, a swelling tide of the creatures is pouring from all the towers—racing across the mesa toward the hapless band.

  Cut off from the tunnel entrance, the leader motions toward a still-open corridor. The band races to reach the mesa’s edge before that avenue, too, is closed.

  At the edge of the mesa is a steep escarpment veined with huge vines that fall to the valley below, as if to shore up the mesa’s sheer cliffs to prevent their tumbling down. The band reaches the edge in time, and they immediately begin the downward climb.

  When they arrive on the valley floor, they look back up at the rim of the mesa where they see . . .

  Nothing!

  The creatures of the towers are not in pursuit. Having driven off the threat to their mesa city, they are not swarming the vines. The leader is thankful for the narrow escape from this unexpected peril.

  The band looks across a coomb-like valley whose walls, though bare, are eerily like their valley home. In their mind’s eye, every member of the band sees the same unsolicited vision of their glacial valley and feels the same irresistible pull of this new valley on their spirit and passion to regain the icy world they fled.

  The leader, alone, is leery of the overpowering effect of this strange valley on his judgment and will. It is as if something else is dictating his thoughts, and he senses great evil in this fell place. But when he commands the band to retreat from the valley, in a strong-willed effort to resist the spell, he is rebuffed!

  For the first time ever, the members of the band refuse to follow his lead. Instead of going back, the band ignore their leader and forge ahead deeper into the coomb.

  They make it as far as the opposite wall before night catches them. Wary of remaining in the darkness in an exposed position, the leader guides them to the yawning mouth of an immense cavern at the base of a cliff.

  Almost immediately, the exhausted band are fast asleep.

  The leader awakens to the strange scene of sepulchral spirits silently slipping through the sea of shadow outside the cavern. The crepuscular figures seem to be beckoning him to leave the shelter of the cave to join them in their gloomy passage, and he feels their strong tug against his own will.

  Resisting an inexplicable urge to abandon the cave, the leader places his furry arms over his eyes and turns away from the cave entrance toward his band. Nor does he lower his arms before the shadow begins its retreat from the light of two suns.

  Stirring his slumbering band, the leader motions them back into the valley. They discover a peculiar trail of bloodstones, their quartz-green surfaces dotted with blood-red spatter. The trail appears to lead toward the far end of the coomb, and the band dutifully follows it.

  But they seem to make only slight progress before dark shadows begin gathering, and the leader detours to the nearby cliffs in search of the shelter of a cave.

  This time, he is disappointed. The only shelter he can find is a rocky overhang near the base of the cliff. The band crouches together beneath it as the world around them turns black. Soon, all are deep in slumber.

  Again, the leader is awakened by bewitching images of capricious sprites trying to draw him from the shallow shelter. Again, he boldly asserts his iron will to resist their enchantments.

  This time, a diminutive rat-like creature emerges from a nearby burrow and, on unsteady paws, approaches the ghostly assembly as if lured by some invisible prize. At once, the timid creature is seized by the sprites and torn asunder, its body parts borne away by a rush of silvery images in pursuit of those bearing its arms and legs, bone and flesh.

  The leader cringes against the stony wall of the band’s retreat and warily awaits the return of light. When it finally chases away the shadow, he makes an unexpected find.

  The blood-spattered moonstones that have been their guide are gone. Worse, the band emerges into the place where they began their valley trek.

  Somehow, they have been led into an endless circle. The leader knows it is the work of the spiteful spirits that have so haunted his wakeful sleep.

  The moonstones have misled them, and the leader motions his band to follow the valley wall as a reliable guide to its far end.

  Disheartened, they once again commence the trek to find a way out of this cursed place.

  And once again, the darkness finds them only a short distance from where they started.

  This time, they find a larger recess at the base of the cliffs and retreat into its depth. Only, there is no back wall as the cave leads them into a rocky tunnel whose phosphorescence lights their every step upward.

  The climb is long and arduous and soon, fatigued by their valley trek and the steepness of the tunnel’s incline, the weary band stops to rest.

  One by one, they drift asleep.

  The tympanic
beat of trickling water falling on stone greets the leader as he stirs awake. The rocky walls are bulging toward them as water begins spewing from a spreading, spidery lacework of widening cracks and fissures!

  His urgent cries roust the band, and they bolt upward as the section of tunnel behind them collapses in on itself in a gurgling gush of churning torrent.

  The race is on!

  As the band sprints farther upward, each receding section of the tunnel behind them implodes into an angry cauldron of swirling water. Glancing back, the leader sees a rising column of water erupting up the remaining cave after them.

  Sensing his panic, the band makes a mad dash to stay ahead of the threat licking at their rapidly retreating heels.

  Meantime, the walls of the cave ahead of them are beginning to bulge and crack, and the farther the band goes the narrower the tunnel becomes until, finally, it cannot be passed at all.

  Just as hope appears to abandon them, the band comes upon a narrow lateral opening in the remaining wall and, one-by-one, they squeeze through it into a large cavern whose dry, level ground slopes gently upward. As the last of the band emerges into the cavern, the wall behind him crashes down to seal their escape.

  The leader urges the band upward, over the rising slope. They spill out onto a dusty, open desert forming the roof of the valley. Fleeing from the mouth of the cavern, they immediately strike out in a direction away from the valley’s rim.

  The earth trembles beneath them and, reminded of the temblors in his glacial valley, the leader motions the band deeper into the high desert. As he does, the band hears a loud clap and, turning, watch in horror as the valley’s edge collapses and the earth opens into a yawning rift.

  Forever barring their return to the ensorcelled coomb and the spiteful spirits dwelling there. Awed by the mysterious tectonic shifting, collapsing and cracking of the earth, the leader knows now there is no going back.

  What the leader cannot know is the greater mystery unfolding far above him in the heavens suspended between two suns.