Eos Rising: The Third Book of Regenesis

by D. Scott Dickinson

  Never has she contended with the resistance of the still water through which she labors now. It is not the sea she has known.

  She passes this first night beyond her natural element in fruitless pursuit of the minute food-organisms that are not here. For they have been swept away by the stream she abandoned.

  Soon after daybreak, the skate swims farther down—beneath the thermocline in the mesopelagic zone—fearful of the growing heat of two suns upon the surface waters. The descent further weakens the already lethargic creature.

  She pauses in the motionless depth, retracts her short pelvic fins and floats listlessly.

  That is when she receives her first solid hit from a ping echoing back off a nearby object moving across the surface above.

  Its shape is not familiar to her, small and condensed, unlike the blankets of food-organisms that are. But it is the only thing in these waters, and she begins pursuit.

  Meantime, fathoms above and closing rapidly with the skate, there is pursuit of a different kind.

  Flanked by her next-eldest siblings, Mei-o-Peia is seeking consensus on a preparedness plan to cope with the deadly perils foretold by their night visitor.

  “Our course is clear,” she begins.

  “The spirit warned the danger will be least in the beginning and become progressively greater as we go.

  “The spirit also counseled us to confront each challenge, youngest to eldest, so each can be tested in turn.

  “We risk failure and death if we spurn the spirit’s words!”

  Stepping forward, On-o-Peia, the seventh sister, loudly protests:

  “But why do I have to be the one in least danger? I am as brave as any of you. Yet I am treated like the baby! It is not fair.”

  Chiming in, the sixth sister, Mat-o-Peia, agrees: “On-o is right! I, too, wish to confront the more demanding challenge. I, too, want to prove I am equal to it.”

  Her ultimatum raises a chorus of like objections from the younger sisters. All of whom plead to be assigned to the more rigorous of the trials prophesied by the spirit that invaded their dreams.

  “Enough!” commands Lin-o-Peia, the second eldest, silencing the others.

  “On-o!

  “Mat-o!

  “Peia!

  “You are not listening,” Em-o-Peia, the third sister, interjects. “The perils will be dire enough. We will only make them worse by disregarding the spirit’s counsel.”

  Placing her hands on a shoulder of each of the youngest sisters, Mei-o-Peia commends their courage while reasoning:

  “This is not just about proving your bravery; it is about each of us doing what is best for all of us to survive.

  ”We will heed the spirit’s advice and you, On-o-Peia, will perform the first trial, whenever that may be and in whatever form it may come.

  “The spirit spoke of seven deadly perils. If we do not overcome the first, the rest will not matter.

  “Every trial will be to the death.”

  As if on cue, the wicker craft rocks violently against the brush of the colossus that has been pursuing it. Only On-o-Peia remains standing as the others are thrown to the deck.

  Grasping her fishing-spear, she rushes to the forward hatch, opens it and peers intently at the swirling current on the starboard side.

  There is a dark shadow agitating the surface of the sea and, to her, it seems to stretch outward forever.

  While she cannot make out its features, the youngest sister knows this monster is more formidable than the seven puny fishing spears they have to repel it. And she knows their wicker craft cannot long endure the pounding. It is sure to capsize or swamp and drown them all.

  Surmising that this menace can be overcome only by a greater menace still, an audacious plan begins to form in On-o-Peia’s mind.

  Leaping back from the open hatch, she calls out to her sisters:

  “Quick, throw down your spears and grab the oars. We are heading back toward our lost island!”

  Taken aback by such a foolhardy suggestion, the other sisters stare at their youngest sibling. Wondering if panic has robbed her of reason. It is Mei-o-Peia who breaks the stunned silence.

  “Quick, do as she says!” the eldest sister commands. “The silver maiden’s prophecy demands it. And we do so under her promise of protection.”

  With that, the seven sisters grab their oars and paddle furiously back in the direction they have come.

  Their course is marked by the sudden appearance of a ribbon of phosphorescence. Rising to the surface of the sea. Creating a distinct lane. Lighting the way toward the island that is no more.

  Toward the boiling water and the toxic cloud they cannot yet see.

  So weakened is the giant skate the sisters easily free their craft from its tenuous embrace, rolling quickly over its slick skin and back into open water. Turning slowly, the titan resumes the pursuit.

  After hours of daunting labor, the sisters espy a white speck low on the far horizon. Shaking off fatigue, they redouble their effort to reach the distant image.

  They make swift progress until, suddenly, their craft is wrenched sideways by an unseen force. It takes all their strength to right the craft back into the direction of the nearing white image.

  The giant skate follows in relentless pursuit. Intent on its quarry. Still the only object visible in the feedback loop of its constant acoustical pings.

  The sisters row faster as the speck grows into a thin wisp of white. Perching on the ocean’s surface. Gradually expanding to a towering column of vertical cloud.

  Leaping to the hatch, On-o-Peia shouts encouragement:

  “The shadow-monster still stalks us. But the cloud on the sea grows closer.”

  Jumping back down to her place at the oars, she urges: “Keep rowing. It cannot be long now!”

  Just as she utters these words, the first small bubble breaks the surface of the quickly warming sea. They are nearing the superheated cauldron of boiling water. Fed still by the lava beneath the white, toxic cloud.

  So is the giant skate. . . .

  Until she is not anymore.

  The broad shadow slows. Then stops.

  Stung once more by the heated water, the titan recoils.

  The shadow turns. Then flees. Bleeding into the distance away from the toxic cloud.

  On-o-Peia is back at the open hatch. Venting the rising warmth within the craft. Watching the shadow melt away.

  “Turn away, sisters,” she commands. “The shadow-monster is gone.

  Our destination lies beyond the cloud ahead, to the other side, where the shadow dares not follow. It is our certain protection from the monster.”

  As the craft circumnavigates the towering column of toxic gas and ash, the giant skate reaches the great ocean current. It is not the same lifeless waste she crossed in pursuit of the floating object.

  She enters familiar, life-filled waters. Carrying great swaths of micro-organisms as they race in the direction of the current’s flow.

  The cooling ocean has regained its equilibrium.

  The temperature variations between its ascending zones have restored the vital balance energizing the great current.

  The rich harvest of life flowing down from upstream has reclaimed the stretch of current made sterile by the pyroclastic blast and super-heated floe of lava into the sea.

  The cooling waters are cleansed and alive once more.

  Back in her own world, the titan begins to feed.

  Gaining the far side of the towering cloud, the exhausted sisters lay down their oars and rest.

  Mat-o-Peia echoes the sentiments of the rest as she asks:

  “What possessed you to turn back to the death and destruction we so lately fled, On-o?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, the youngest sister replies:

  “It seemed obvious to me our puny spears would not dislodge a creature strong enough to lift our craft. And when I saw its vast shadow, I knew it would be discouraged only by a greater threat. A threat that, thankfully
, still lay close at hand.”

  While the sisters congratulate their youngest on her quick thinking, Mat-o-Peia mulls over the explanation and the lesson it holds. For, as second youngest, her turn must come next.

  Even as they celebrate their narrow escape from death, the next mortal menace is bubbling up from the deepest recesses of the planet a thousand leagues away.

  A soulless monster from the deepest abyss in the briny depth.

  Born of deeper forces still.

  Chapter 5. Tsunami

  It is the trans-oceanic trench. Steepest valley under the sea. The ocean’s counterpart to the great rift valley ripped across the landscape of this world’s vast supercontinent.

  Both share a common paternity.

  Both are lasting scars of an ancient civilization’s war against the planet.

  Both are casualties of the calamity visited on the natural world.

  Unmistakable geologic manifestations of the echoes of a lost civilization.

  Epitaphs of unbridled pollution.

  Global disfigurations whose enormity even the voice in the tower could not foretell.

  As holocaust consumed the world between the poles, it awakened a force from the very depths of hell. It was a slumbering tectonic demon, rudely jolted from its long sleep by rising temperatures in its stony cradle. Heat, its natural element, beckoned from the fiery world above.

  Groaning mightily, the monster moved. Shifting to embrace the growing heat. Trying to sit up, to rise from its warming bed.

  And that force welled upward.

  Slashing.

  Tearing.

  Rending.

  Opening vast thermal vents in both land and sea. But different in their violence.

  The bedrock of the supercontinent was hot and becoming hotter. It soothed the tectonic monster. Caressed its primal urge.

  The monster responded in kind, drawing a great ventral swath of heated rock to itself. And bleeding lava gently into the planet’s superficial wound.

  The great rift valley cooled, overnight in geologic time, and became home to the earliest species to evolve after the death of the planet’s temperate zones. And its isolation walled off these life-forms from the surface world above.

  But the floor of the great ocean remained cool. Insulated by many fathoms of water from the heat roaring across the supercontinent.

  It angered the tectonic monster. Sorely disappointed by the lack of heat. Urging it to violence.

  The monster shifted suddenly, creating a deep vent across the ocean floor. Causing lava to erupt along its entire length.

  Great shockwaves of energy radiated upward. Gathering water. Feeding its own wave, a vast wall of water soaring a thousand feet above the surface of the sea and spanning the entire width of the great ocean.

  The global tsunami raced with the energy of the cataclysm that spawned it. Reaching staggering speeds as it washed across the supercontinent. Seeking to cleanse it of all remaining life.

  It is this event that crested over the mountain pass, onto the tarn-centered high plateau. Flushing out the creatures dwelling there and freezing them in time.

  It is this event that drove the ancient civilization’s last survivors to the highest polar retreats on the planet.

  The seismic wave was lost to a distant past. The tectonic monster retreated to its bedchamber in hell. But its legacy remained.

  The trans-oceanic trench stretches thousands of leagues between the highest mountains, base to crest, on this distant moon. All submerged beneath the vast sea. All cloaked under the mantle of invisibility that is the ocean surface.

  The sea is deceptively calm here. Unruffled by the streams that hug the shore of the supercontinent so many leagues away or by the swift oceanic currents far to the north and south.

  Soon, these still waters will be stoked by an elemental force of nature. And soon, from its great depth, the malign force will rise to stampede across the ocean and sweep the surface clean of everything upon it.

  Small bubbles on the deep-valley floor begin to grow large. What began as a simmer becomes a boil. And volcanic vents begin to emerge in a hair-like fracture running along the horizontal axis of the trench. Lancing hundreds of leagues in both directions.

  Tendrils of rapidly cooling lava form lacework patterns beside the vents as the angry gash along the bottom of the trench widens. There is an abrupt explosion as a narrow vent fails to open quickly enough to relieve the pressure from below. A second blast follows that . . . then another . . . and another . . . until a great stretch of the trans-oceanic trench is in full volcanic eruption.

  Incited by the volcanism that rudely interrupts its slumber, the tectonic demon stirs once more!

  The still, calm surface of the sea far above is agitated.

  A ripple rips across its serenity. The ripple begins to grow, fed by the explosive energy far below.

  The ripple becomes a wave hundreds of leagues wide. The spreading wave hesitates. Does not advance. Forms a stationary ridge of still water. And begins its steady climb—two feet, 20 feet more, higher still.

  Then it moves.

  Slowly at first.

  Gathering energy.

  Gaining momentum.

  Rising from the sea like the monster it will become.

  As it picks up speed and strength, it climbs higher. Quickly reaching 100 feet. Destined to tower 200 feet and more above the surface of the sea.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Leaving the far side of the island, the seven sisters turn their craft in a new direction to take advantage of the following sea. The waters here are calm, but there is enough current to provide steerage.

  Theirs is an endless journey of many days and many nights as the craft follows the gentle current.

  The sisters quickly fall into daily routines of fishing, trapping rainwater and housekeeping activities. There is little else to do as the waters remain calm and they maintain headway in the gentle current.

  The days are warm and tedious, made longer by the unbroken monotony of an empty ocean.

  Adrift with memories of their vanished island, the sisters spend the hours lamenting the loss of old friends and sharing the promise of an unwritten future. Their venturesome spirit beckons them into the unknown world ahead, and they are excited by the prospect.

  The nights are a time of starlight and wonder.

  Sky and sea are alight with the silver fire of a thousand stars. An astral spectacle, pulsating as if alive. Reflected across a shimmering sea.

  Silver embers, tugging at emotions. Igniting dreams of things that were, things that are and things that yet may be.

  The seven sisters welcome the end of each day, with the departure of two suns whose glare washed the sky clean. They joyfully greet the stars that emerge into the black night. Crowding their craft’s open hatches, they bask in the cool air.

  They wonder.

  They wonder where the sea is taking them. And what waits for them there?

  They wonder what six deadly perils lie ahead. And whether they will survive them?

  They wonder if there are other islands. Or are they fated to drift aimlessly and endlessly in a water-world of no dry land?

  They wonder if they are the end of their race. Or are there others like themselves?

  They dream.

  They dream of reaching a great island, so vast it fills the horizon. And of lush greenery bearing fruits and berries of every kind.

  They dream of monsters and an angry sea. And of each sister’s own resolve for quick thought and bold strokes to vanquish both.

  And they dream of others, like themselves but not the same. And of strange men who are quick of thought and deed. Comely as well as strong. Their equal in every way.

  Pleasant dreams in starry nights.

  Blissfully unaware of the nightmare that will come crashing down on them when dawn next arrives!

  Mat-o-Peia has the first inkling of the towering monster bearing down on them. For she alone is troubled in her sleep this
night. And she alone rises early to a tingling sensation along her limbs.

  Thus, it is but a single pair of eyes that peer through the open hatch of the craft at the crack of dawn.

  At a horizon so distorted, so elevated the sea appears to rise into a great grey cliff blotting out most of the sky behind it.

  At first, Mat-o-Peia is too startled to be frightened. She is looking upon a scene eerily reminiscent of a day, many years earlier, when she thought she had lost her world.

  As a small child, the sixth sister was restless and venturesome. Her older siblings were constantly searching for her as she wandered off. And one day, her roaming led her to a hidden glen, nestled among the cone-mountains.

  Emerging from the forest, her eyes widened as she looked up and saw that the sky had shrunk to a small patch of light. Rocky prominences frowned down on the child from all directions. Neither of the two suns appeared in the small open gap above, and she feared both had run away and taken the rest of the sky with them.

  When Mei-o-Peia found her second youngest sister, the child was badly shaken, pointing to the patch of light and lamenting the loss of suns and sky. Soothing her fears, the oldest sister led her back through the forest and into open sunlight.

  Mat-o-Peia vowed to herself she would never return to the hidden glen. And she never did.

  Yet, here she was again. Wide-eyed and wondering what had become of the dawning sky!

  “Mei-o-Peia will know where it went,” she assures herself, withdrawing quickly from the open hatch and waking her oldest sister.

  Rousting the others, they crowd the hatchway as an audible humming sound arises. It increases in volume and pitch until it becomes a full-throated roar.

  Comprehending their puny insignificance in the face of the overwhelming, irresistible wall bearing down on them, Mat-o-Peia is reminded of the wee, delicate intertidal creatures that made their home on the shore of her island lagoon. So tiny she had to focus intently to discern their diaphanous presence. So tiny that even a small ripple of gentle wave upon that shore must have seemed colossal to their infinitesimal size.

  As a child, she was fascinated by their ebb and flow, constantly retreating and advancing with the rise and fall of the waves. A keen observer, she noticed the creatures seemed to shrink into themselves and hug the sand each time a wave approached, entering at the base of its forward wall.