Eos Rising: The Third Book of Regenesis

by D. Scott Dickinson

  The great amphibian measures 30 feet from jaw to tail-spike, and has a 15-foot girth. Its six legs support more than a ton of muscled mass. The snout is broad, fronting immense spike-fringed jaws that open to a length of 5 feet on either side of its monstrous head.

  The giant’s ribbed dorsal fin rises fully five feet above the ridge of its back. From its smoldering-red eyes to its rear legs. Further accentuating the menace of its approach.

  It is the apex predator of this archipelago. And this largest, barb island in the chain is home to the largest archetype of its species.

  It is a ruthless hunter. But it does not hunt.

  It is the moon’s most lethal amphibian. But it does not dwell in sea, lake, river or pond.

  It is dimetrodon. The maze-herder. King of lizards. A wily super-carnivore that steers and snares its prey. In a most ingenious trap.

  Open sand remains only between the sisters and a narrow length of tree-line. The growth along this stretch of beach appears to form a dense, impassable wall. And just as the sisters decide climbing is their only option, the dark masses on either side of them reach the tree-line.

  And commence to climb as agilely as the most nimble arboreal species!

  While her sisters are distracted by the climbing monsters, Lin-o-Peia espies a narrow black slash, exposing an open break, in the dense wall of trees not 30 yards farther down the beach from their tethered craft.

  The others leap to her side in a mad dash to reach the opening before it, too, is cut off by the spreading black horde.

  They find themselves in a broad, straight lane through the jungle. Forming a well-beaten pathway giving every indication of man-made design and care. So even and level is the ground, its surface is worn to a polished finish.

  “This is no work of nature,” Lin-o-Peia muses. “It is man-made and in recent use. We are not alone on this shore. People carved this path through the forest, and we must find out whether they are friendly or hostile.

  “Whoever they may be, one thing is certain: This will lead us away from the giant lizard of the sea and the monsters that climb trees.”

  She could not be more mistaken!

  Lin-o-Peia leads the sisters deeper into the forest. Gliding silently along the open lane. Lances at the ready.

  The wide, inviting corridor the sisters follow now was hewn out of the forest by dimetrodon’s massive jaws and lengthened over many generations. The path’s surface has been smoothed by the passage of many wriggling black bodies ever following their instinctive attraction to the giant’s lair to deposit their eggs in its singular loam.

  The pathway from the sea ends in an extensive maze of tunnels, wending their way through a forest of bamboo-like reeds. In this island’s adaptation of the wood-wide web, their roots form a vast network with interlocking subterranean fungi.

  Like dimetrodon and other isolates that have evolved in unique ways in this remote archipelago, the island bamboo displays a singular pattern: a maze of parallel tree-lines forming narrow lanes leading nowhere.

  In lockstep with the fungi that radiate their distinctive geometry a short league from the shoreline of the savage sea. Creating the loam the black, wriggling amphibians require to incubate their eggs.

  Unaware of the greater peril ahead, Lin-o-Peia urges the sisters to flee along the tunnel. Their long legs and fluid running style keep them just beyond the reach of the creatures pursuing them.

  Until suddenly, they arrive at a thick wall of high bamboo. Barring further flight in that direction!

  Lin-o-Peia does not hesitate, but leads her sisters into a narrow defile flanked by thick bamboo on both sides. Running perfectly straight for several yards, then turning at an abrupt angle into another lane. Which again ends at a sharp corner into yet another short, straight stretch of enclosed pathway.

  The sisters are trapped in dimetrodon’s maze and, while the monster has not shown itself, they dread the sinister aspect of this fell place and are overcome with a sense of hopelessness and vulnerability. They know they are lost, and they fear the unknown menace of the trap that offers no escape.

  Their only consolation comes from the realization that few of the wriggling monstrosities are in pursuit along this pathway. And that they appear more intent on burrowing into the banks at the base of the bamboo than on menacing the disoriented, ensnared intruders.

  Scarcely does the sigh of relief escape their lips when an ear-splitting roar rips through the reeds around them. Shaking the thick bamboo stalks and making the ground tremble!

  Motioning her sisters to remain alert, Lin-o-Peia leaps to the thickest stalk of bamboo and scurries skyward. Her alacrity is testament to the agility of these practised tree-climbers who from early childhood scaled the tall, fruiting palms of their island home.

  It seems no time at all when she returns to the ground and, taking the lead, doubles back the way they came. The narrow corridors are lined with the wriggling black bodies of creatures feverishly burrowing into the banks of loam. But the sisters are neither threatened nor harassed in their haste to quit this closed, confined place.

  A silver glow illumines the polished pathway that led them here, and their long legs propel them swiftly along the now-deserted corridor to the beach.

  As they gather, breathless, around the wicker craft, Lin-o-Peia explains:

  “From the height of the tall bamboo stalk, I was able to see the futility of escape in any direction save that which brought us to that evil place. The narrow pathways turn in every direction, but they are blind alleys, leading always to dead-ends. Indeed, the only way out appeared to be the way we came in. And, as I watched, a ribbon of silver light unfurled along the pathway toward the beach. Beckoning us once more.

  “The black creatures from the sea seemed intent on burying themselves in the banks of every lane I could see. I also saw the swaying of giant bamboo reeds as something very large was making its way through.

  “The giant lizard seemed to be herding the wriggling creatures along the narrow paths. Doubtless, it was the author of the deafening roar.

  “While there is daylight, let us redouble our effort to make this craft seaworthy and leave this accursed shore!”

  As the sisters work feverishly to repair the wicker craft, the maze they so recently quit is become a charnel house!

  Dimetrodon is patrolling every narrow lane, snapping up the black creatures as they emerge from the burrows in which they laid their eggs.

  It is a ritual that repeats itself every fortnight. When the twin suns come into alignment across the bamboo forest from the shore. Generating an intense light that draws dimetrodon from its lair to herd the wriggling black creatures out of the sea for their pilgrimage to the monster’s maze.

  To the devil’s own nursery. Where eggs are deposited in the protective custody of the giant predator. Who will urge the hatchlings along into the corridor running to the beach. In the certain knowledge they will return one day to lay new eggs and to sacrifice their bodies to its sanguinary appetite.

  Like the web-creatures and barracuda fry in the river caves beneath the great supercontinent, theirs is a grim bargain. Securing protection for the next generation of black amphibians in exchange for their mature flesh!

  The two suns separate themselves in the morning sky as they rise the next day over a tiny craft pushing off from the barb island. Seven flanged poles dip a lively cadence in the water, as their bearers labor mightily to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the realm of dimetrodon, the maze-herder.

  The typhoon has scrubbed sea and sky, as the new day dawns clear and bright. Rekindling hope and adventure in seven heaving bosoms.

  But farther to the west, the fury of the storm is not yet spent. The trailing tower of violent wind and rain is descending on the battered Great Northern Fens.

  Chapter 11. A Changed World

  Whoosh!

  The brothers are startled awake by the deep-throated intake of the approaching back wall of the typhoon as it aspir
ates the air around them. Making it difficult to breathe in the uncanny stillness.

  They are gathered on a wedge-shaped rise of silt. Forming a vee at the intersection of two streams flowing southward. Carrying the spill-off from the headwater of the wider river they have followed here.

  Aside from the high banks carved out by the expanding eastern and western branches of the river, it is the only elevated patch of land within sight on the vast open fens. Keeping them high and dry from the watery bog, but dangerously exposed to the storm sweeping in from the east.

  But there is neither wind nor lightning, and they dismiss the oppressive air as some harmless outer band of high pressure spawned by a tempest whose fury already is spent. They read little immediate threat from the night-time darkness and the eerie sucking sound that awakened them but now is gone.

  While he shares his brothers’ lack of urgency, Adam is wary of their exposed position should the passing band bring more high winds.

  Leaving the wedge of high ground between the streams, Adam and his brothers plunge into the western branch away from the approaching storm. Wading across the shallows onto the bank on its opposite side.

  Adam is resolved to follow the emergent river south seeking a safer place for them to shelter. But the floodplain beyond its elevated bank remains flat and featureless as they journey through the night. Crossing countless streams rushing to join the main western river. Until the opposite bank disappears into the gathering clouds of grey mist racing in from the east.

  “There!” Japheth cries out, breaking the heavy silence. Pointing westward, he exclaims: “I see the outline of something higher, rising out of the fens.”

  The brothers immediately strike out to the west. Hoping this singular feature will afford them shelter before the slow-moving cloudbank catches them on the open floodplain.

  There is groundwater everywhere and, although shallow enough to wade, it slows their progress. Making their race to stay ahead of the storm a near thing.

  Meantime, their destination takes ever-clearer shape, revealing a thickly wooded hammock.

  The travelers have reached the timeless remnant of an ancient stone forest.

  Fossilized reminder of an ancient past when thick woodland covered the coastal plain from the northern polar region to the equator. Before the Great Melt and the cataclysm that opened the planet’s pores to release its wellspring of sweet water from subterranean river caves onto the fire-scarred surface of the world.

  The wind-stunted trees have tremendous trunks that shimmer in the moist air. And the ground between them is heavily littered with the petrified deadfall of their ancestors, creating a stone-like fortification on the elevated mound.

  The exhausted brothers reach the hammock just as the sinister cloudbank reaches them. And swallows the petrified redoubt.

  The brothers take shelter in the protective embrace of the deadfall. Hunkering down to wait out whatever the bank of fog may bring.

  They do not have long to wait!

  Suddenly, the darkness is pierced by lancing columns of lightning. Pursued by sheeting rain. And winds so strong they make the prodigious tree trunks shudder as they blast off great shards of mineral-bark. And hammer against petrified deadfall as they howl in rage.

  Neither lightning nor rain nor wind can dislodge the brothers as they huddle down on the lee side of the sturdy fallen trunks and limbs turned to stone.

  It is the noise, and the noise alone, that perturbs them. The fever-pitched shrieking of the typhoon that drowns out all other thoughts in the hours of its passing. And it is the eventual abatement of its howls that signals the weakening of the storm.

  As the heavy rain stops, the mist hurries toward the west to leave two suns shining down upon a changed world!

  The hammock is the only dry ground remaining in the vast floodplain. It is surrounded by deep water stretching out of sight in every direction.

  The brothers are marooned on this hammock. Surrounded by the mute stone sentinels of a bygone age. Trapped by rising floodwaters that are lapping at the edges of the sandy elevation.

  Steadily eating away at the insubstantial margins of their refuge from the deluge!

  Chapter 12. Sea-Wolves

  The sea to the east grows calmer as tidal wavelets push the frail, ill-repaired craft around the point to the western, lee side of the island. Where the northern continental cross-current picks it up and bears it westward toward the immense bay that is the great ocean stream’s destination.

  Its loosely tethered ribs creaking ominously, the wicker craft drifts on as the sisters wonder if it can withstand even the least storm or predatory creature of this savage sea. But none regrets their haste in putting to sea as quickly as the craft could be floated to escape the death lurking in the giant lizard’s maze.

  Apprehension soon abandons their thoughts as the sea remains placid and only varieties of small, delicious silver fish are found teeming in the current bearing them ever westward.

  It is a journey of seven days and seven nights. Of rest and recuperation. Of hope and plenty as they feast on the bounty of the sea and the fresh, sweet waters of the sky falling gently into their gourds in the early rays of each new day.

  It is on the morning of the eighth day when heavy fog envelops the craft and an unsettling presentiment puts Em-o-Peia on edge.

  “Sisters,” she cautions, “stand ready at your lances. I fear this fog.

  “It is evil. It shrouds our senses from menace, be it from sea or sky, from storms above or creatures below.

  “It is silent. It is invisible.

  “Yet, I feel it. And it is near!”

  Her warning is interrupted by the soft slap of wave upon stone. Echoing through the fog. From the starboard side of the craft. Suddenly, the frail craft stops. Spinning around from a fixed point larboard. Like flotsam caught up on a snag.

  As seven lances are hefted, the fog begins to thin. Dissolving into wispy tendrils of smoky dampness.

  When the curtain parts, the outline of tall, craggy cliffs takes shape. Rising from deep ocean on the port side of the craft. Towering into high, cloud-like fog.

  The craft itself is caught between vertical folds of slick rock at the base of the soaring cliffs. Sheer abutments that are joined a hundred feet above the sea. Forming an archway into the light-filled ocean to the west.

  The sisters are awed by the profusion of pale colors suffusing the serrated columns of stone on both sides.

  While the base of the cliffs is steel grey, ribbons of yellow and greenish hues paint the rock at succeeding elevations as far as the eye can see. Refracting grey and yellow chroma. Their greenish overtones casting a pastel patina upon a painted sea.

  Gawking at the perfect geometry of the archway they pass beneath, the sisters are filled with hope that this is the gateway to the destination the Earth Spirit foretold. Surely, they reason, the cliffs are a harbinger of land. And they are relieved that this will mark an end to the perils of the sea.

  Their relief is premature!

  And Mei-o-Peia knows it. Feels it in her bones. Confronts it in her thoughts. Sensing her sisters’ wishful thinking, she breaks the silence.

  “We are not free of this savage sea yet,” she observes, “for I have not been tested yet. And mine will be the greatest peril of all!”

  As the craft emerges from the archway, it drifts southward along the western base of the cliffs. They are sheer, as far as the eye can see, offering no harbor or place to land.

  Focusing on the far cliffs, the distracted sisters fail to see the lower bluff wedged between the tall cliffs on the near point of the western edge of the archway they are leaving.

  Nor do they espy the fearsome creature standing watch there. Leering down at them from the hidden rise.

  Until a blood-curdling howl echoes from the cliffs. And whitecaps well up in the sea around them where there is no wind.

  Stone columns jut down like pincers from the western flank of the cliffs. And dire sea-wolves dwell on
the lower bluffs along the crags. Preying on creatures swept into the archway by the great northern cross-current.

  The sentinel wolf stands vigil upon the highest bluff. Alerting his fellows the hunt is afoot.

  It is into this trap the frail craft has drifted.

  Looking up, Mei-o-Peia is appalled by the gruesome image of the sea-wolf. Reflections off the ecru rock make its eyes flame yellow, like the pale glowing embers of intense fire.

  It stands twice as tall as she. Its long, hair-covered front legs are propped on wide paws that are webbed. Broad, flat flukes take the place of rear legs.

  Otherwise, its body is identical to that of the great dire wolf that terrorizes the northern and southern plains. The same wolfish jaws, the same long, needle-sharp teeth for rending flesh.

  But the sea-wolf has something its plains cousin does not!

  A neuro-toxin administered through its hollow front canines to immobilize its aquatic prey. One nip can paralyze and prevent the swifter, evasive sea creatures from shoaling away.

  The toxicity of their bite offsets the sea wolves’ primary disadvantage.

  While they look fearsome, they are in fact abject weaklings--sheep in wolves’ clothing lacking both quickness and physical prowess. Slow swimmers, they rely on the densely packed numbers of schooling fish to nip the occasional laggard that fails to dart swiftly enough out of their way. Relying on toxin alone to immobilize their prey.

  As the sisters look on in horror, the whitecaps disappear. The sea around them begins to boil. As sea-wolves begin scaling the wicker skin of their craft.

  Seven lances strike out at the groping bodies, many howling their death-agony as they fall back, lifeless, into the sea.

  The wolves are unable to penetrate the wicker craft.

  Until one reaches the mat securing the sternward hatch and manages to pry it open!

  Whereupon several drop into the craft and nip the sisters before succumbing to the death-blows of their lances.

  Leaping abaft, Mei-o-Peia quickly closes the hatch, securely lashing the mat in place. When she turns back to rejoin the battle, all the sisters are down while but a single wolf remains.