Alpha Rising

by G. L. Douglas

  She read, “‘En Gedi, a remote basin 200 miles long and 20 miles wide, our source of minerals, was once home to advanced civilizations and thriving cities on six continents. Over time, one continent overtook another, and a thirst for dominance sparked a series of conflicts among the people that resulted in starvation, disease, and unendurable toxins. Annihilation of the species was complete, except for a nomadic group in an area called Anoz.’”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Four generations.”

  “So we have to find that small, isolated group?”

  She read more, “‘The people of Anoz developed an area of their homeland into bountiful orchards and crop fields. Eventual discovery by the Ultimate World led to experimentation. They altered crops to eliminate seeds, making them more pleasurable to eat. After a devastating drought, Anoz residents were unable to replant native crops because they had no seeds.’”

  Bach enlarged the image of planet En Gedi on his viewscreen and focused on a desolate continent. A dismal grid of empty skyscrapers; idle, overgrown highways; burned-out farmlands, and ground hardened from years without rain formed a patchwork of colorless ruins where cities once prospered and civilizations once thrived. The urban skyline resembled simple cardboard and clay architectural renderings, and parched lake beds in outlying areas appeared as targets carved into the ground.

  Star read more. “‘Anoz’s civilization has separated into two villages. The people have a unique characteristic—all births produce twins.’”

  “Twins?” Bach sighed. “Will the chosen ones be twins?

  *****

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Alphamates stepped from the ship onto the parched red clay of a desert-like area. Bach kicked a clump of dried vegetation on a sand dune and studied the surrounding rock-ribbed hills. Deep clefts of gray, white, and tan ran the length of their sides, and a dust bowl gully rested at their feet—a souvenir from a waterfall long since consumed. Across the plain, a far-away village wore a vibrant purple haze like a halo. He pointed it out to Star with a groan. “Looks like a long walk ahead.”

  She motioned to the mauve-colored sky. “Something’s coming this way.”

  An eagle-like bird approached on massive outstretched wings, circled the Alpha once, then rode a lofty air current while surveying the new arrivals.

  Bach looked toward the distant village where a cloud of red dust now rose from the clay. Someone was coming. Soon he could make out four black-haired children, maybe six or seven years old, riding on what looked to him like horses. The kids came up fast and tried to pull to a stop, but their stallions reared in fear. The four shouted foreign commands to their animals and stared from curious eyes.

  “They’re afraid of our big ship,” Star said. “They’ve only seen smaller co-op and Rook ships.”

  “Do you know their native tongue?” Bach asked. “It might help.”

  “I know a little.” She called out to the children in a foreign language.

  The youths, twin boys and twin girls, nudged each other and shook their heads.

  “They know the co-op crews so I told them I’m Nova’s sister, but it didn’t work.” She smiled, pointed at Bach, and again shouted across the distance.

  The children dismounted and moved cautiously forward. Both boys wore animal skin loincloths and moccasins, and the barefooted girls had on colorful, oversized dresses. One boy broke from the group and ran forward carrying something in his dust-covered hand. He pushed it toward Bach.

  Bach accepted a pocket-sized wooden toy, then mumbled to Star through nonmoving lips. “Okay genius, what did you say this time?”

  “I told them you’re a Rook.”

  “What?”

  “Shhh … they like Rooks.”

  He examined the toy and handed it to Star.

  She pondered the carved image, a native female holding a tear-shaped hoop with a star dangling inside. “It’s a storyteller doll. A visual reminder of past events, stories told through symbols.”

  One of the girls ran to Star and took her by the hand, then pulled her toward the stallions, running as best she could with her orange sackcloth dress skimming the ground. The other children followed alongside, motioning to Bach to catch up.

  The twins doubled-up on two animals, and Star and Bach mounted the other two. The girl in the orange dress put her finger to her lips and whispered to Star.

  Star shared a warning with Bach. “Native tradition requires we travel in silence when approaching a village.”

  The horses had clopped off a mile of dried red clay and had a mile to go when a chilling breeze stirred from a distant reach of the planet and the colorful sky turned an ominous gray. Bach, Star, and the four children exchanged distressed looks as the new wind rolled in with a howl that sounded like humans moaning. A half-dozen whirling sand devils rose from the parched ground and twisted across the plain with the force of eye- and body-blasting bird shot. The spooked stallions reared and turned in circles as their mounts fought to rein them in.

  Coughing, fighting for breath, and sandpapered alive, the six riders barked desperate commands and forced the neighing, frightened animals onward. Visions of tepee-like dwellings appeared then disappeared through the turbulent squalls.

  As soon as they reached the village and all had dismounted, the twins pushed the Alphamates into the closest hut, then rushed off. The unoccupied tepee was structured from wooden poles, tree bark, hides, and mud.

  Bach parted the tent flap just enough to look out. “Oh, no,” he said. Sand particles gritted between his teeth as he talked. “Those kids disappeared into the thick of the storm.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his hair and clothing.

  Star blinked the burn from her eyes and brushed gritty sand from her hair and jumpsuit, taking care not to make dust on the possessions inside. She peered over Bach’s shoulder. “I feel uncomfortable being in someone’s home when they’re not here. What if this storm goes on for a long time?”

  “Problem.”

  “Let’s hope it clears before dark,” she said.

  He shook his head. “All these tepees with symbols and designs. Big search ahead. Maybe we can find those kids again, they might know of our hope symbol, it might be a family sign.”

  As suddenly as it began, the roaring assault stopped with startling stillness.

  “It’s almost scary,” Star whispered. “Is it safe to go out?”

  Bach opened the flap enough to look around. “Dead quiet. Nobody’s out yet, but it’s still light. Let’s go.”

  They were about thirty feet out when an enormous native carrying a heavy spear against his shoulder appeared seemingly from nowhere. His open-armholed, buckskin tunic was fastened with a wide, turquoise-studded belt holding what looked like tools and weapons. A silver metal ornament in the shape of a flying bird adorned the center of his beaded headband. The man positioned himself in front of Bach and Star, glaring from eyes so black they appeared to have no pupils. He blocked their path with his crosswise spear. “You!” he shouted. “Violated sacred family threshold. Entered home unwelcomed!”

  Bach felt the need to talk with his hands. He motioned to the sky. “The sandstorm.” He held his hand waist high. “Children gave us shelter. We meant no harm. Your possessions are safe.” He showed his open palms. “We didn’t touch anything.”

  The native jabbed his spear over Bach’s head and growled, “I cast off violation.” He moved behind the two and pushed them forward with the shaft of his spear.

  “Where are you taking us?” Star asked.

  “You … wear shaman’s mark of trespass.”

  “Shaman’s mark of trespass?” Bach bristled. “We didn’t touch anything. Let us go.”

  The huge warrior followed from behind with a stride so heavy the ground seemed to vibrate beneath his feet. They’d passed a dozen totems when the native halted them beside a pole so huge it took a full backward head tilt to see the top. He jammed his spear into the ground, di
d a series of ritualistic foot movements, then took the weapon and pointed it back and forth at the two while crying out in yelps.

  The call summoned a towering shaman from a nearby tepee. He sauntered forward with three torch-toting minions following behind. His authority clearly reflected in his attire: an elaborate white-feathered headdress trailing down his back, and an assortment of white furs padding portions of his burly, tanned body. Bright blue and red feathers hung from woven bands below his knees, and two painted white lines on his face intersected on his nose. The shaman stopped in front of the captives. His eyes moved from their heads to their feet. Several hard stomps of his right foot brought the three assistants scurrying to the forefront.

  The assistants, barefooted with buckskins wrapped around their lower bodies, prodded the hostages toward a distant, blackened trench under a framework that looked like a shortened goalpost. Off to one side, smoke poured from a furnace made of rocks.

  Bach stopped, dug his feet into the ground, and stiffened his arm in front of Star. “Don’t hurt her. Let her go.”

  One of the underlings pulled a club from his waistband, shook it at Bach in a threatening manner and pushed him toward the goalpost. The three natives then worked together to shackle their captives to the crossbar before engaging in a hopping, prancing ritual.

  Bach squirmed against the restraints holding him in the blackened trench, but he couldn’t break free. He looked at Star and saw her wrists reddened from struggling to escape the bindings. His eyes darted from the charred bricks below their feet to the torches wielded by the captors, and his mind toyed with the words, “Wear the shaman’s curse.” Heart pounding like a drumbeat, he whispered to Star through heavy breaths, “Sway them with something in their language. Call them off.”

  “I’ll try….”

  The shaman, angry at his captives’ break of silence, let out a yelp and lumbered toward the goalpost, black eyes flashing. He confronted Bach face to face and pressed so close to him their chests touched. His mouth opened wide, and foul-smelling saliva sprayed across Bach’s face and head when the native shouted, “My curse will possess you for violating a sacred trust.”

  Shuddering from the repulsive stench, Bach contorted his upper lip to seal off his nostrils and turned his head. He answered in a pinched voice, “We sought refuge from the sandstorm.”

  The shaman stepped back and glanced toward the furnace where large andirons held two branding irons. Their circular end pieces, divided by two lines—one vertical, one horizontal—had stoked to a fiery orange-red. Can it be? Bach wondered. A symbol right there in my sight? No, it can’t be a symbol of hope. That one looks dangerous and they called it a mark of trespass. He looked at the shaman and nodded toward the fire. “I see your crossed circle….”

  The shaman cut him off. “The four segments represent war, famine, pestilence, and death, which I now eliminate from your spirit.”

  As fingers of flame rose from the popping, crackling furnace, Bach grew desperate. Bathed in perspiration, face flushed, he asked, “Do you worship the Creator?”

  The shaman had yet to answer when a moving shadow darkened the ground, casting a pall on the ritual. The warriors’ built-up energy waned as they looked to the sky. The eagle-like bird’s twenty-foot wingspan shadowed the arena, and its flight stirred the dusty clay. In a sudden move, the bird dove straight at the shaman, forcing him to the ground. Splayed on his back like a string puppet, the leader waited for the bird to retreat, then staggered to his feet and poked his spear toward the sky. “Wisdom has signaled her disapproval. Curse and mark of trespass revoked.” He summoned the minions and nodded toward Bach and Star. “Release them.”

  The captives were freed, and Star started to thank the shaman, but Bach slid his arm around her waist and pushed her forward. “Shhh … get going.” As the two race-walked toward the tepees Bach noticed the bird in the distant sky. “Wisdom,” he whispered, “thank you for your wisdom.” He glanced back at the shaman. “I’d be a little worried if he were a chosen one.”

  “Just a little,” she said, grimacing.

  *****

  Bach and Star walked among the tepees as the village natives hustled to repair their sandstorm-damaged dwellings. After searching for several hours without finding a symbol they decided to skirt the camp’s outer rim. There, by luck, they met up with the same four children. The little girl in the orange dress ran to them, threw her dust-caked arms around Star’s legs, and looked up with huge dark eyes. Star stroked the girl’s long black hair and talked to her in the native tongue. The child shook her head. “She doesn’t know anyone with our symbol,” Star said to Bach.

  He sighed. “If we have to explore inside the tepees, it’s gonna take some doing.”

  The girl pointed to the sky where Wisdom approached on a direct path over their heads. The bird circled once, then swooped low, forcing Bach, Star, and the children to the ground. They followed her flight with their eyes—west, returning, west again, then returning to land a few feet away. One golden eye focused on the six as if communicating, then the bird lifted off with a rush of wind, leaving behind an imprint in the sand that looked like the symbol.

  Star gathered the four kids together. They spoke, then hugged, and the children ran off, returning minutes later with two unsaddled horses. The Alphamates mounted up and followed Wisdom’s westward flight across the dust bowl of gullies and sagebrush-covered mesas. A second village slowly became visible under a violet haze that deepened to magenta as it fanned across the sky.

  As Bach and Star neared, two native men in loincloths and headdresses approached on stallions. The scouts spoke with Star in their native tongue, then escorted the visitors to the village and left them in a communal area.

  In this village, Bach noticed that the tepees’ doors opened to the east to welcome the daystar’s first light. And one ornately decorated hut, twice the size of the others and bordered on three sides by a ten-foot high clay wall, seemed a shelter for a high authority.

  The Alphamates strolled among the people and decorated tepees as the daystar’s light began to fade. “Sure hope Wisdom knew what she was doing when she led us here,” Bach said, “But this village seems much like the first … lots of symbolism … not the one we need.”

  “Maybe it’s small, hard to see. Did the Creator say the person would have it on them?”

  “He said they’d have the symbol but wouldn’t know it.”

  “I’ll pay more attention to each person.”

  The two were taken by surprise when a heavy drumbeat in the distance resonated through the village and the door flap on the lavishly decorated tepee parted. A man emerged wearing a tunic of animal furs, held by a belt of red stones. Black feathers ran from his headdress down his back. He carried a club with a smoking pot hanging from the end as he walked to a large elevated throne constructed from rocks. About fifty male tribesmen gathered before him as the village women returned to the tepees. The chief waved his arm toward the crowd and swung the smoke pot back and forth. The drumbeat ceased and the clan began a rhythmic dirge while their leader sat on the throne and lit a long-stemmed pipe using embers from the pot. He smoked his fill then passed the pipe into the crowd.

  Star and Bach blended in with a row of totem poles and watched the pipe-passing ritual with interest. After all the men had smoked and bowed to their leader, a gong clanged three times and they retreated to their tents.

  The Alphamates moved on without finding a symbol. As they walked among the tepees, Star whispered, “I haven’t seen any children at this village. The little girl in the first village told me that she and her twin sister, and her twin brothers, were the only children there, and others were missing.”

  “Missing? Was she teasing you?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll look into it when we get back to Dura.”

  A rustling sound at the Alphmates’ backs caused both to turn around. A golden-skinned man stepped from a tent with his mate—a young beauty with dark, kohl-adorned eyes a
nd braided, waist-length hair. Alongside the couple’s tent was a wooden platform with a T-shaped perch. The man rapped on the perch with a long flute carved to look like a bird, then scanned the horizon’s darkening sky. He yodeled, then blew into the flute. The long notes rippled through the crisp evening air.

  Wisdom approached from the distance.

  The woman stepped inside the tepee and returned with two clay bowls. She bowed her head in what looked like prayer then raised the bowls upward and watched until the bird flew to the perch. When she set the bowls on the platform, Wisdom ate and drank as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  Bach leaned close to Star, and said, “They’re the only ones out. Let’s talk to them.” They approached the tepee, but before they got there, the natives ducked inside. “I’ll catch them,” he said.

  “What if we make another mistake and get into trouble?”

  “It’s getting dark. We have to keep trying.” He moved alongside the open door flap and called into the tent softly, “Uh … uh … hello?” Noises came from inside.

  Star moved to his side. “I’ll try in their native language.” She uttered several words and the man came out.

  “I speak the common language,” he said.

  “Forgive us,” Bach said, stepping back. “Darkness is near.” He grasped Star’s eternity circle pendant in his hand and displayed it with the cross pendant aligned over the top. “We’ve traveled far in search of something that looks like the two of these placed together … a crossed circle.”

  The native stared at the icon.

  Bach pointed to the bird eating on the platform. “Wisdom led us.”

  Without words, the man turned back to his tepee.