Pegasus Colony (People of Akiane: A Colonization Science Fiction Novel Book 1)

by Phyllis Moore

  Adumie’s Lament

  Morning after Intruders’ Arrival

  DEATH SHOULD be bittersweet. Bitter because it hurts to lose the one loved; sweet because it should be a time to celebrate a life well lived. And so it was when there was an occasional death, but when death comes every few hours, there is only grieving and fear.

  People feared to sleep. They were afraid of who might not wake up. They feared they might not wake up. Death was no longer a promise into God’s presence. It not only took loved ones. It took joy and hope. It took and took and took, until Death was no longer welcomed.

  Cameron said the deaths were the product of a mysterious disease. He believed God had brought the intruders to find a cure.

  More than once Adumie had cried out to God, “See, Lord, how distressed I am! The torment within disturbs my heart. Do not punish your people for my sins. Punish me only.”

  But God does not answer the prayers of the wicked. And Adumie was wicked. These deaths were his fault.

  Adumie’s footsteps echoed quietly as he walked. Endurance’s hallways were once filled with life, joy, and laughter, but no longer. Now they were desolate.

  There was to be a community meeting this morning, but death continued to rule. The meeting would have to wait.

  He stopped to look into a sleeping area. One hundred fifty beds set in neat rows. Pillows waiting for someone to rest their head upon lay neglected for lack of use. At one time, every bed had been occupied. Family units lived together in one room. All in this family were dead.

  Far too many family rooms were vacant. All that was left were the memories painted on family walls. Walls that Adumie could no longer look upon.

  Adumie continued to the one room left that still held the living.

  Those who still lived chose to live all together in one room.

  Everyone stood in somber silence waiting for him. Bereavement filled their faces. Their hearts deprived of joy. Illness and perpetual grief dimmed their eyes. There had been too much death. More had died during the night.

  There is no comfort. No restoration of soul. Tears welled Adumie’s eyes. Crying was not for the high priest. There had already been too many tears. A few more meant nothing.

  “We are ready,” Jecidia informed Adumie.

  This morning five adults and three children, all taken before their lives were fully lived, would be laid to rest.

  The bodies, wrapped in a dull yellow funeral cloth, lay on their mats on the floor ready for their final journey.

  Leven, Adumie’s sibling, was the last to be prepared. Most of her hair had fallen out and her skin had turned ash gray. She had withered to skin and bones.

  The first three of Leven’s children still lived. She’d brought them forth before her illness. The next two were born sick and had already died. The last child had been stillborn. It was unclear if Leven died of the slow death or of a broken heart.

  It was for the high priest to say final words. What was there to say? That this was God’s will? That God called them to Himself because of love?

  No. There was nothing to say.

  Too many had died. Endurance had lost its luster for lack of children running in the halls, lack of laughter, love, hope, and life. Physically, it was falling into dust for lack of caretakers. There were few gardeners, hunters, fishers, or butchers. Few left to tend the Blood Vines. Fewer chrysalises survived the vines. Soon there would be none left.

  Out of respect for his station, everyone reverently waited for Adumie to speak.

  Torment pounded at his heart. Words failed. He shook his head. “I cannot,” he whispered.

  No one pressed for last words. They understood all too well. Emotions and words were all consumed by grief.

  A lone, plaintive flute began to play. Its tune drifted through the room and around the people, but no one sang along. Another flute joined in, then a third. As if by the combined efforts of the flutes, one voice was inspired to sing:

  When Kahair rises, we will praise our God.

  When Kahair sets, we will praise the Giver of Life.

  With an upbeat tempo, an instrument made of strings from tupilak gut. A set of bones would join in with the beat. This was a song of praise, but today, it was a song of lament. More voices solemnly joined in.

  We return the cherished

  to the One who has given them to us.

  Be not sad.

  Look to the day when we are reunited

  in God’s love and glory.

  Adumie did not sing. The lyrics stabbed. If God loved, why did He do nothing while people, so many people, died? Did God not see anguish? Did He not care? How many would die before this trial ended?

  All energy had drained from him. He wanted to lie down and sleep and not wake until death had completed its work and taken him.

  Six people for each adult, four for each child, lifted the moss bedding and stood in a line. Soon there would not be enough people to carry the dead out. What then? Lock them in an empty room to rot?

  When they were many, only family and friends had walked alongside the dead, but now that they were few, everyone who could came. No one wanted to be alone or left behind. Even the sick came, which meant the procession moved slowly and stopped often for them to rest. It would take three times longer to reach their destination, so they placed the sick on sleds.

  Only the sickest, who could no longer stand, and three caretakers stayed behind.

  Adumie led the way from the family room to the outside exit.

  A new day was awakening. It would be a few hours before Kahair appeared over the rim of the caldera, but his presence was easily seen. The pale blue sky was already pushing back the dark of night.

  The funeral procession walked one slow step at a time, out the exit farthest from the unwanted guests so intruders would not see.

  The procession traveled across snow-covered land and over land-locked ice to open water. Temperatures were warming. Ice was thinning and receding. The journey was becoming shorter.

  Open water put moisture in the air. Moisture brought snowstorms and blizzards, but this day was calm.

  It should have been a sign of encouragement, as if God were welcoming the dead. In reality, God had deserted them. Prayers for mercy and healing were not heard. People continued to die.

  Adumie no longer believed or prayed. What was a high priest without faith?

  In the past, when one died, there was a celebration. That one would never be cold again and would never know the terror of The Storm. They now resided in the City of Heaven. They walked among angels and family on streets of gold.

  Yes, they were missed, but the joy of knowing where they had gone eased the pain of loss.

  Death no longer brought that hope or peace.

  As they reach open water, the flues and voices returned. The procession moved to the rhythm of their lament:

  If I rise on the wings of dawn,

  if I settle on the far side of the horizon;

  Your hand guides, Your right hand directs my course.

  Chovis also walked quietly.

  They did not playfully wrestle or chase each other. They understood the solemnity of the moment. Those who had formed a bond with the one now dead alongside the body.

  As the procession reached water, people spread out to viewed the ocean as they sang one last verse:

  I remember well my affliction and my wondering;

  yet, I call to mind,

  by the Lord’s great love,

  my soul is not disappointed.

  Each new morning brings God’s mercy;

  great is God’s imminence.

  Unhurried, bodies and bedding were placed in the ocean and pushed out to sea. Gradually, the bodies drifted away.

  The living mournfully watched.

  Nine chovis jumped in and swam around the bodies as if guiding them onward. The mats slowly sank as they took on water. Two chovis whined and yelped in concern. Chovis loyalty did not stop because of death. Leven’s chovis dived
in after her.

  Adumie knew the chovis would follow Leven too deeply and drown, or a tupilak would attack and eat the chovis, which seemed odd since chovis did not eat tupilak.

  Two more chovis dove in to follow the one they had walked with.

  The last body sank.

  The last six chovis in the water swam farther out. Chovis often jumped into the water, swam too far, and were unable to return. No amount of calling could convince them to come back. No one bothered to call to them now.

  Eighteen chovis sat staring at the water. Several looked as if they might jump in, but for some reason did not. Those with pups would not. They would return to Endurance.

  Every one of these, Adumie thought, as he looked over the community, every one of them will die before their time. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. Then it will be my turn. I will be the last to die and there will be no one to cover my face.

  Chapter 14

  Adumie

  Fishing

  “NOW WE fish,” a fisher said, as if life continued without Leven and the others.

  Adumie would have preferred to stand and stare for a while longer at the blue green water. The water had quieted as if they had not laid loved ones to rest and chovis had not been lost.

  Life dragged Adumie along, no matter who or how many died.

  Chovis ate fish, not tupilak. Since few chovis survived swimming in ocean waters, fishers caught fish for chovis.

  Fishers slung their nets over their shoulders and walked along the edge of the ice. They would not fish near the dead. They were looking for another open water spot filled with shoals of fish. Priests followed. All but one sled returned to Endurance with the others. The last would carry fish to be dried and stored for when the fish disappeared during the summer years. Most chovis stayed with the fishers. They knew what was coming and were eager for their first meal of the day.

  To Adumie’s amazement, Jecidia came along. No one would have blamed him if he had returned with the others. Jecidia was too weak to help in case of an attack. Yet he did not use his weakness as an excuse to shirk duties. That was why Jecidia had been such a great leader and was so well loved. It was difficult living up to such standards.

  Jecidia was good hearted and giving. Adumie was heavy hearted from long-held secrets.

  Adumie slowly followed and watched as sixty fishers spread out along the edge of the ice and cast their nests. Twenty-three priests casually talked and stood as they watched over fishers.

  One of the priests dropped a bundle of spears on the ice.

  Hopefully, they will not be needed, Adumie thought. He was too tired to even think of an attack.

  Tupilak made fishing dangerous. The sea creatures looked a lot like chovis, only they were red and very much larger. Chovis were affectionate, protective, and loyal. Tupilak were aggressive killers. They attacked and ate not only fish and chovis, but fishers as well. Priests protected the fishers from tupilak. Then hunted them. People ate tupilak, not fish. Adumie doubted there would be any hunting today.

  Akiane was warming; ice was melting. During winter, tupilak lived on land near the open equator waters. Once the ice melted, tupilak left the area and would not return until Akiane refroze. They were already seeing less tupilak these days.

  They had gathered and stored enough meat to last them for the warm years. It was hoped the off-worlders also had enough meat to satisfy them. For once the tupilak were gone, there would be no more meat.

  It was good that hunting season was nearing an end. Adumie was tired of death and killing. He walked alone along the edge of the ice looking out over the open water.

  A chovis nudged Adumie’s hand. He knelt to scratch behind the chovis’ ears and down her white—apricot tufted neck.

  The chovis’ tail happily wagged. A velvet tongue licked at Adumie’s hand and face. As much as he enjoyed chovis, none had ever attached herself to him. Even though Adumie knew not everyone had a chovis, he couldn’t help wondering if it was another sign of how inadequate he truly was that none followed him.

  The tongue abruptly disappeared. Her tail froze. Her head dropped. Her ears pointed up. A low growl came from deep within the chovis’ throat.

  Adumie stood.

  Something was wrong.

  Chovis had been eagerly anticipating their next meal, and had been under fishers’ feet while playfully wrestling each other for the best place to watch for nets laden with fish. Now they were pacing the water’s edge, growling. Chovis life-givers moved their pups to safety, and hurriedly herded them toward Endurance.

  Fishers nervously watched the chovis and the water. They pulled their nets in and also moved inland.

  Priests pulled their fur jackets, gloves and green shirts off and dropped them on the ice. Bare-chested, they stood like finely chiseled red-garnet warriors, ready to respond to a threat. They even took their green gloves off so their hands could grip their spears without slipping. Their arms were free to accurately throw the spears.

  Disappointed, Adumie also pulled his jacket, shirt, and both gloves off, in anticipation of an attack, and dropped them on the ice. He had hoped for a quiet day. It seemed no such day was forthcoming.

  He quietly thought, Would things ever returned to normal? Then he wondered why he would think such a thing, when he knew no such day would ever exist again.

  Jecidia moved to the spears, untied and arranged them so they stood with the sharp ends pointed up. He gave each priest a spear as they ran past him. He was useful after all.

  Fishers dragged their nets in. If the nets were full, they secured the fish as quickly as they could and ran. Any other time, a net would not be left unprotected. Chovis would rip it to shreds to get at the fish. But at this moment, chovis were preoccupied with the threat in the water. Tupilak were near.

  Some fishers released their haul and ran, pulling their empty nets behind them.

  Chovis continued growling and pacing the water, looking for the attacker.

  Timus and Telto, two from the same life-giver, were having trouble hauling their net in. It seemed to be stuck on something. They pulled. Timus moved to the right side and knelt on the ice to get a better look. Foolishly, she leaned over to pull at the netting.

  “Timus, don’t!” Adumie yelled.

  A tupilak could easily leap up, snag her with its teeth, and pull her into the water.

  But she couldn’t hear over the chovis growling. Timus pulled a knife out and leaned farther over in an effort to cut the net free. Adumie let out a sigh of relief when she stood and shook her head. The net was still snagged. Perhaps now those two would move from the water’s edge.

  Adumie thought to go to them, but decided to stay where he was. The tupilak could come up anywhere. He stood in a good place to run in either direction. If he went to Timus and Telto, and the sea monster came up from the other direction, Adumie would be at a disadvantage to help.

  Suddenly a deep red tupilak leaped out of the water as easily as a child would jump onto a large rock. It stood on all four paws, not bothering to shake water droplets off its fur. With raised head, its jaws opened wide to showed large pointy teeth capable of shredding a person as easily as it could shred ice with its claws.

  The creature stood between Adumie and Timus and Telto. He should have gone to them. He regretted not having a spear. He was too close to the water and too far from Jecidia.

  The tupilak sniffed the air and saw those running. The animal looked around as if assessing the situation and appeared to be considering chasing after a group of fishers. It took two, three steps toward them.

  A person being chased was supposed to run toward the protection of the priests, hoping that the sea monster would follow them, and the priests would kill it.

  “Good,” Adumie spoke softly. “Follow the fishers and we will kill you.”

  Chovis ran toward the monster, yelping and growing. Next to the huge tupilak, a forty-five kilo chovis looked like a pup. It seemed not to mind them. It was contemplating what it wan
ted to do or whom to chase.

  The monster stood as its head swiveled to the right and saw Timus and Telto still by the water’s edge. Its body followed its head slow and easy.

  Timus and Telto saw the sea monster eye them. They dropped their net. It quickly slipped into the water—lost. It would take days to make another.

  With a show of its large teeth, dripping with saliva, the tupilak growled hungrily.

  Telto bolted toward the priests. Timus stood frozen. The creature started for her. She panicked, turned, and ran along the ice shelf away from the sea monster, and from the priests.

  Adumie moaned in disappointment.

  The tupilak stopped. The creature watched the priests running toward it, but all were too far away. Some tupilak would have known to run from priests and retreat back into the water. This one did not.

  It gracefully pushed through the chovis surrounding it, and with a trouble-free gate, pursued Timus as if it had plenty of time to reach its victim. If it did reach Timus first, all it had to do was grab her and leap back into the water where she could not be rescued.

  “No!” Adumie yelled and ran. He was the closest. He forced his size to grow until his pants and boots were too tight to allow him to grow any larger. His longer legs took longer strides, the extra power moved him faster, but it felt as if he was running in place. Timus seemed no closer.

  If only she would grow in size. She could easily outrun the tupilak. But she was too afraid to think of it.

  Priests had been spread out and had not been on alert. They had been lax in thinking they were fishing in a new place where there were no tupilak. Adumie should have known better. Tupilak were everywhere. Instead of mourning the past, he should have been prepared for the possibility of future disasters.

  Chovis tried to distract and slow the monster down, but it tore through them like a large, red boulder rumbling across ice. It sent two chovis skidding. One managed to stop in time, but the other slipped off the ice into the water. It came leaping out of the water just as easily as the tupilak had.