KRONOS RISING_DIABLO

by Max Hawthorne

  ***

  Four miles away, near the center of its crater-shaped lake, the object of Artek’s concern laid basking on the surface, relishing the warmth of the morning sun.

  The creature was enormous: nearly eighty feet in length from the tip of its stubby tail to the end of its battle-scarred jaws, and weighed well over a hundred tons. Its body, covered with rock-hard scales, was dark bluish-gray on top and pale below. The counter-shaded pattern was that of a traditional pelagic hunter. The dark dorsal region of its body allowed the beast to blend in with the sea bottom as it stalked its prey from below, while its creamy undersides kept it camouflaged while it sunned itself on the surface, the lighter color matching the dappled sunlight from above and helping to shield it from predators.

  Not that it had any.

  Even the most amateurish of paleontologists would have recognized the creature as some sort of enormous pliosaur, an extinct marine reptile from the late Cretaceous period. In truth, the animal was remarkably similar to its distant forebears: the pair of Kronosaurus imperator that had been trapped within the caldera, eons ago. In their day, the titanic creature’s ancestors had been the dominant carnivores of the prehistoric seas. Their ferocity was virtually unmatched in the history of the animal kingdom, and nothing that swam their primeval oceans was safe from either the killing power of their jaws or the immense appetites that fueled them.

  If anything, given sixty five million years of continued evolution, Nature had only improved upon its deadly design. Unfortunately for the creature, however, even the most perfect of killing machines could not stave off the inevitable.

  Since the fall of the dinosaurs, the population of pliosaurs imprisoned within the caldera had varied from one millennium to the next. Ranging in number from four dozen to over one hundred adults, they had survived the eons, adapting and improving over time in their speed, power, and hunting skills. They had even begun to develop a rudimentary intelligence of sorts.

  Over the last ten thousand years, however, the pliosaurs’ situation began to grow bleak. Generation by generation, their numbers gradually declined. The problem wasn’t climate related; the heated waters of the caldera pool had enabled them to stave off even the last Ice Age without ill effects. It was their food supply.

  The creatures’ main prey items – the teeming schools of giant fish and squid that populated the lake – were slowly-but-surely dwindling in number. With meat becoming increasingly scarce, the ravenous flesh-eaters eventually went after the only readily available food source: Each other.

  They turned cannibalistic.

  The pliosaur’s five-foot young, normally safe from predation by the adults in the crater, suddenly had more to worry about than the predatory fish that kept their numbers in check. In fact, juveniles of any size risked their lives once they left the comparative safety of the shallow portions of the lake. To make matters worse, it soon became apparent that even the adults weren’t safe from being eaten. A Kronosaurus that appeared vulnerable, either from advanced age or injury, more often than not found itself beset upon and ripped to pieces by one or more of its more powerful brethren. Soon, the pliosaur’s normally stable population began to dwindle, until only a dozen of the hardiest specimens were left. The situation for the giant reptiles was growing desperate.

  In the end, it was human beings that made the difference. Having inhabited the island for almost 20,000 years, the primitive villagers – alarmed by the creatures’ dwindling numbers and increasingly cannibalistic tendencies – took action. Both industrious and innovative, they took it upon themselves to become the pliosaurs’ official guardians. Using fire as a motivator, they herded entire harems of the well-fed monk seals that occupied the cliffs bordering the caldera down into the crevice, then forced the panic-stricken creatures at torch-point into what appeared to be sheltering water.

  Oblivious to what was waiting for them, the blubbery animals sought refuge in the lake, only to become nutritious, calorie-rich meals for the rapacious marine reptiles. From that point on, from generation to generation, the natives made regular, monthly contributions to the pliosaurs’ diet. Seals, sea lions, and even netted sharks or tuna, once dragged inside, were all on the menu. The tribe worked hard to keep the monstrous creatures that dominated their lake healthy and content.

  They were more than happy to do so.

  After all, the pliosaurs were their gods.

  ***

  With a loud snort and a blast of compressed water vapor that echoed across the surface of its lake, the creature surged to life. A steely-hided killing machine designed to feed upon sharks and other marine reptiles, its existence consisted of eating, battling for territory, and mating. There were no more competitors left to fight, however, nor was procreation any longer an option. That left the creature with one thing and one thing only: its never-ending need to feed.

  And it was hungry.

  Filling its cavernous lungs with oxygen, the titanic reptile closed its watertight nostril flaps and plunged beneath the surface. With its four dugout-canoe-sized flippers propelling it silently forward, it began its search for prey.

  ***

  Dismissing Martika with a wave of his hand, Artek strode purposefully toward his dwelling place. Trepidation furrowed his normally-smooth brow. For untold centuries, the giants of their lake had been the guardians of the populace. It had been so for generations beyond count. The gods’ battles with the evil spirits that resided under the lake and mountain were the stuff of legend, often shaking the very ground upon which the village sat.

  The creatures kept the spirits at bay and the people safe. In return, the villagers fed their god-beasts with each new moon to keep them strong. Sea mammals from the island cliffs and fish from the surrounding waters were readily given to them. Even the tribe’s dead were sacrificed to the giant reptiles, as were condemned criminals and stillborn infants. Conceptually, it was considered an honor to be offered up to the gods, although in his innermost thoughts, Artek believed the dead cared not. The still-living sacrifices, on the other hand, had varied views. Some went willingly, others did not.

  In the end, it made no difference. It was the way of things.

  Pausing outside his hut, Artek stood tall and pondered the lake and village. The smell of seasoned fish roasting tantalized his flared nostrils and his stomach began to rumble. Down below, a growing crowd was gathering by the dock, eager to have a decent view of the upcoming festivities. As usual, the god was nowhere in sight.

  The shaman sighed heavily. One . . . just one.

  That was all they had now and it was the last of its kind. Once, there had been many gods. In fact, less than a year ago, the caldera had literally resounded with the calls of almost two dozen of the mammoth creatures.

  Then, disaster had struck.

  After a long period of seeming peace, the spirits of the mountain attacked the lake’s god-beasts with a savagery their worshippers had never before seen. The underwater battle must have been ferocious. The entire island shook to the point that it seemed it would tear itself apart. Avalanches of rock tumbled down into the lake and the waters in its center began to glow and churn with a fury beyond imagination. The scalding heat generated by the deepwater melee could be felt even on the village shores.

  When it was over, the waters were littered with the bloated bodies of the gods. Of the nearly two-dozen, only two had survived the clash with their invisible enemies. The carcasses of the rest, young and old alike, floated on the surface, their enormous, fanged jaws spread wide in horrific visages that bore silent testimony to their agonizing deaths.

  The people of the village were horrified at the sudden loss of their protectors. But Nornak, Artek’s predecessor, had assured them that, with proper prayers and offerings, the two remaining gods would soon mate. They would produce a new, even stronger generation that would continue to shield the tribe from the unseen forces that threatened them.

  Unfortunately, that was not to be. Within a few months, another powerf
ul tremor shook the island. This time the waters did not boil over, but a deadly landslide of stone and rubble destroyed the shallow portion of the caldera that was the gods’ nursery. The unborn hatchlings were annihilated, dashing the peoples’ hopes and prayers.

  The spirits were on the verge of winning.

  The final blow came weeks later, when one of the two remaining gods disappeared. No one could say for sure what had happened. Its body never surfaced. Nor had the earth shaken as it was prone to when the unseen forces attacked. But judging by its mate’s behavior, there was no doubt the great creature had perished somewhere in the depths.

  The people were devastated. The gods had fallen and their offspring been treacherously slain. Finally, the village’s last, desperate hope had vanished along with the lone one’s mate. There would be no new generation of gods. When the last of the huge creatures perished or was slain the people would be alone.

  The spirits had won.

  Turning away from the scene below, Artek strode past the suddenly attentive guards who stood leaning on their spears outside his dwelling. As he entered the ceremonial hut, he focused on clearing his mind, trying to put aside, at least for a moment, the mountain of recriminations he carried.

  Inside, amidst a cloud of incense, his acolytes were preparing Nornak’s body for the ultimate honor. His much anticipated union with their god.

  Chapter 2

  The god was on the move.

  Barreling along a hundred feet beneath the surface, the giant predator gained swiftly on its prey. Fifty yards ahead, a school of chrome-colored fish fled terror-stricken before it. Measuring close to twenty feet in length, the enormous descendants of the prehistoric fish Xiphactinus audax were, themselves, top predators, each tipping the scales at over three thousand pounds. Compared to the whale-sized nightmare that pursued them, however, the toothy, tarpon-like creatures were little more than a snack.

  With a sudden burst of speed, generated by all four of its barnacle-tipped flippers, the god plowed through the center of the school, scattering its victims with the monstrous pressure wave that preceded it. With a lightning-fast snap, it seized the nearest fish by the head and gill region. Closing its jaws, it drove sixteen-inch, ridged fangs, backed by a bite force that would have registered fifty tons per square inch, deep into the Xiphactinus’s body. Like stepping on an egg, the pliosaur annihilated the fish’s thick skull and spinal column, killing it instantly.

  Shaking its prey so violently that the surrounding waters were obscured by a cloud of scales and blood, the islanders’ god-beast gradually adjusted its vice-like grip. Finally, it seized the still-twitching fish by the head, gulping repeatedly as began to swallow it whole. It was a slow process and the skin of the marine reptile’s throat stretched to accommodate its enormous meal.

  Pausing for a moment to let its stomach settle, the scaly colossus rose to the surface to spout before plunging back into the depths, still hungry.

  ***

  As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the ceremonial chamber, Artek took a moment to observe the progress of Nornak’s funerary preparations. The old shaman’s spirit had only just fled his body in the middle of the night, yet already he was adorned in full regalia for the upcoming ceremony. Working furiously, the four acolytes put the final touches on the dead priest’s face paint, while simultaneously adjusting the tough palm frond ropes that kept his body snug against the ornately-carved sacrificial chair.

  They moved quickly and efficiently, for time was of the essence. The god preferred its meat fresh.

  Satisfied with the quality of their work, Artek moved to a side door that opened to a wooden deck and stairwell. Two of the village elders stood waiting, a large, earth-colored ceramic container with rope handles between them.

  The elders bowed low as Artek approached, greeting him in their guttural tongue. The shaman nodded in response and raised the lid of the twenty-gallon container so he could examine its contents. His head snapped back involuntarily as a foul smell assailed his nasal passages. It was the pungent aroma of monk seal blood and melted-down blubber, combined into a noxious mixture. Closing the lid tightly, he gave the two elders an approving half-smile and complimented them on their work. The summoning liquid was perfect. Its powerful scent would help draw their deity in close for the fast-approaching ritual, and the taste and smell of fresh seal blood permeating the water would ensure something else as well.

  The beast would be hungry when it got there.

  Instructing the elders to oversee the dispensing of the bloody stew into the appropriate region of the lake, Artek re-entered the ceremonial hut. Passing his acolytes, who by now had attached the sturdy carrying poles to the bottom of his predecessor’s chair, he disappeared through a nearby doorway into his private chambers. As he reached for his ornamental headdress, the young shaman espied the silver-colored canisters hanging from one wall. Reaching over and pressing his calloused palm against the cool surface of one of the shiny metal tubes, Artek’s mind wandered back to the unexpected arrival of the two strangers, several years prior. They had literally come out of the surf, staggering awkwardly onto white sands that no foreigner had ever despoiled.

  There were two of them, one tall, one short. Both had brown hair and eyes and ghostly pale skin, almost like ivory. They had the heavy, metallic tubes strapped to their backs, and were garbed in bizarre, ceremonial masks and odd black garments that stretched like squid skin.

  Within minutes of their arrival, the intruders were set upon by a hunting party and taken prisoner – practically without incident. They seemed both thrilled and astounded to discover human beings on the island, and chattered excitedly back and forth in their strange language. The taller one appeared to have some sort of vision problem, as he was continually closing one eye and struggling to peer through a palm-sized, metallic device that was pierced by a tiny window.

  Both the shaman and the tribal elders were perplexed by the arrival of the intruders. Not just by their speech and manner of dress, but how they seemed to have just walked right out of the sea.

  One of the foreigners, the shorter one, had suffered a vicious barracuda bite on one arm and was badly in need of the tribe’s healer. While the injured man was being attended to, Nornak and the elders deliberated as to what was to be done with them. Certainly, it was argued, they could not stay on the island. It would have been blasphemous. Their pallid complexions and strange mannerisms notwithstanding, they simply were not members of the tribe. Nor could the council allow them to be released back into the sea. The waters around the island being what they were, that would have been tantamount to murder and, thus, was flatly against their laws.

  After much deliberation, the council concluded that the strangers must have been passengers of one of the noisy white boats that occasionally circled the caldera, cruising outside the reach of its treacherous reef system. Perhaps they were from the one that had erupted into a fireball and sunk that very morning. Of course, that didn’t answer the far more pressing question as to why they had come . . .

  In the end, it was decided that the sharks and other sea creatures had intentionally spared both men’s lives so that they might present themselves as an offering of atonement to the gods. After all, why else would the intruders adorn themselves completely in black and wear flipper-like footwear, if not to simulate the appearance of the seals that were the giant creatures’ favorite food?

  The decision was made. Despite their vehement protestations and a surprisingly fierce struggle, the strangers were summarily stripped of their unusual garments and gear, bound, and then taken to the raft.

  Over two years later, Artek could still hear their screams of terror and astonishment as the gods came for them.

  ***

  Like a levy under pressure, the surviving god’s appetite continued to grow. Arcing up toward the surface from its thousand-foot dive, the voracious Kronosaurus imperator cast about for something else to appease its growing hunger. The surviving members of the sc
hool of chrome-colored fish had made good their escape while it devoured their hapless comrade. They were nowhere to be found. Frustrated, the great beast decided to dive deep in search of the pugnacious squid that prowled the ten-thousand-foot depths of its saltwater lake.

  There were easier meals to be had. Stretching thirty feet from caudal fin to tentacle tips and weighing several tons each, the thick-bodied cephalopods were ferocious predators in their own right. Their razor-sharp beaks and toothy tendrils were a fearsome arsenal. In fact, the pliosaur’s huge head was cross-hatched with scars from the squids’ saw-like suckers. Still, they were an important part of its diet.

  Sounding like a modern-day whale, the marine reptile quickly located its quarry, lurking above one of the searing thermal vents that connected the caldera lake with the surrounding sea. Jaws agape, it rushed in to seize and incapacitate its prey before it had the chance to flee. Unfortunately, the squid spotted its ancestral enemy at the last possible moment, and the carnivore’s jaws ended up closing on a foul-tasting mouthful of ink instead.

  Breaching the surface now with a deafening blast of water vapor, the god paused. Its huge flippers began to undulate, enabling it to hold its position as it scanned the surrounding area.

  A series of low, throbbing sounds began to assail its sensitive outer ears. The pulses were amplified by the water, and thus easily absorbed. They were converted into signals – signals that triggered the memory regions of the predator’s brain. There was something familiar about the repetitive thrumming . . . something that stimulated the creature’s taste buds and adrenal glands.

  It represented food.

  With the pulsing sounds continuing to call to it, the pliosaur began to swim toward the source of the stimulating rhythm. It moved slowly at first, then faster. Then, a mile or so later, a new stimulus began to call to it. It was a tantalizing scent and flavor, oozing enticingly through the water. The scent was quickly analyzed by the creature’s stereoscopic olfactory system. It knew immediately not just what the familiar smell was, but also where it came from.