Eos Rising: The Third Book of Regenesis

by D. Scott Dickinson

  She marvels at the beauty and perfection of form of her patient. And she wonders if he can be the same species as her island race, whose hairless males evoked only revulsion and painful obligation.

  Each time her fingers brush against the prostrate man’s flesh, a jolt of electricity courses through her. Touching her very soul. As she carefully inspects every inch of the man’s muscular body.

  Finally, she gently removes his loincloth, when her eyes widen and arousal surges through her own body. Nothing in her experience has prepared Mei-o-Peia for this revelation, and she stares longingly at his nakedness. Then, something happens the brash beauty did not expect.

  For the first time in her life, Mei-o-Peia blushes!

  While nudity is her life experience, and the practice of her people, she finds herself unaccountably embarrassed by the nakedness of this handsome stranger. And she quickly restores his loincloth, preserving his modesty and quelling the intense emotions that overpowered clinical detachment.

  Her inspection complete, Mei-o-Peia leans back, relieved that the man largely escaped the wolf’s assault. Except for the shallow bite-marks on his forearm, every inch of the man’s skin is clean and unbroken. And the pricks on his forearm show no sign of corruption.

  Adam spends the rest of the day in a twilight trance. Unable to move. Drifting beneath the thin edge of consciousness. Dimly aware of another presence. Dismissing it as mere illusion.

  By nightfall, his breathing has slowed to a nearly imperceptible rise and fall. His mind reaches a deep-sleep state. And enters an unlikely dream. Of an impossible phantom image.

  It is a young woman. She is not unlike his mother in shape or form. The same height. The same graceful feline figure and fluid movements. The same wide eyes and long lashes. The same pert, upturned nose and full lips. And the same pointed, elvish ears.

  But this phantom has copper-red skin, unencumbered by clothing of any kind. Long sable tresses reach down to her graceful shoulders. And her eyes are the emerald green of tropical forests, not the ice-blue of polar frost.

  A single tear leaks from Adam’s eye as longing and regret flood his thoughts.

  The despair of knowing no such creature exists beyond her who gave him life. Knowing he is condemned to the futility of a hollow existence without a mate.

  Grieving for what might be but is not.

  No, this phantom presence is not real!

  It comes to tantalize.

  It comes to beguile.

  It comes to tease.

  It is the false, hollow reflection of unrequited hope and unattainable desire. A discarnate phantasm of delirium from the bite of a creature that itself is improbable.

  Dismissing the fanciful image as a cruel deceit, he sinks into dreamless sleep the remainder of the night.

  Two suns are high in the sky the following day when Adam’s eyelids flutter. While the world remains hidden by a curtain of fog, as his eyes remain unfocused, he cannot escape the feeling he is not alone. Gradually, the fog thins and the objects around him begin to take on definition.

  There are the two suns.

  There is the azure sky.

  There is the blue-green sea.

  And there is an indistinct blur of movement floating across his vision.

  A sudden return of clarity brings him bolt upright. As he hears a honey-smooth voice reach out to him:

  “What manner of creature are you?”

  Stunned at hearing human speech, in a language he can comprehend, Adam turns to face the phantom from his dream.

  Her copper skin is burnished by the intensity of two suns as his own bronzed tan pales by comparison. Her thick mane of jet-black hair shimmers against the sunlight as it cascades down her long, elegant neck. Framing the perfection of beauty that gazes back at him. Quizically. Searching for an answer.

  And while the exquisite nakedness of her feline figure arouses unfamiliar desire in him, Adam’s attention is riveted on the liquid emerald-green eyes that appear as round and glowing as the twin suns overhead.

  A deep intake of breath prevents a timely response, as Adam stares back mutely. In dumbfounded adoration.

  “You do possess speech?” Mei-o-Peia quips in a tone hardened to mask her own fascination.

  Standing upright to face his interrogator, Adam looms a head taller than she. And while she is lithe and slender, he is robust and muscular. With only the sparse loin cloth concealing his full manhood.

  Unlike her, Adam has coarse, cropped hair, an unruly tangle of curls. His chin is cloaked in a thick, full beard. And his wide eyes are crystal blue.

  Peering intently, Mei-o-Peia’s heart melts into their sea-like depth.

  It is she who falls speechless at his response.

  “I am the seeker,” he explains in his mother’s common tongue of the creatures of reason.

  As he utters these fateful words, Mei-o-Peia is spellbound by the panorama that streams across her mind’s eye. Visions.

  Of a vast, level terrain dimpled with lakes, rivers and streams.

  Of a looming, symmetrical structure poised atop a high bluff overlooking the blue-green ocean.

  Of open fields of greenery in straight, orderly rows.

  Of endless tracts of forest.

  Of distant peaks capped in white like giant waves topped with spume.

  All communicated by the man in the language bequeathed by his mother and shared by this remarkable beauty.

  Regaining her composure, Mei-o-Peia inquires of the handsome stranger:

  “What is it you seek?”

  A smile spreads across Adam’s face as he responds with a single, momentous confession:

  “Why, it is you I seek!”

  “But how can that be?” she retorts dubiously. “You do not know who I am. Nor I you.”

  “Nevertheless,” he assures her, “you are the one I have been searching for.

  “You are the reason we have traveled to this unknown region, so far south of our homestead by the sea and across the Great Northern Fens and the riverine delta leading to this distant shore.”

  Blinking her confusion, she responds:

  “I gather the riverine delta is the reed-filled landscape across this river toward the end of the world where the evening suns set.

  “But what are ‘fens’? What is a ‘homestead’? And what do you mean by ‘we’?”

  Gathering his thoughts, Adam replies:

  “I am the eldest of seven brothers who have journeyed far south of where we live—our homestead. It lies many leagues to the north.

  “Above the riverine delta—the reed-filled landscape you describe.

  “Across the Great Northern Fens—a vast marshland of bogs that feed the rivers running south to create the delta emptying into the sea.

  “It is such a river that separated me from my brothers, whose destination lies somewhere to the west.

  “Ours is the only family known to be in this part of the world—just our father, mother and we seven brothers. We make this journey in hopes of finding others like us . . .

  “And here you are! The object of our quest. The one we seek.”

  As he speaks, Mei-o-Peia is drawn deeper into the intensity of his ice-blue gaze, and it takes all her self-control to resist embracing this noble creature.

  But even her iron will has limits, as she involuntarily blurts out:

  “You are the one I seek as well.

  “Like you, I am the eldest of seven—all of us sisters.

  “We are an island people whose island is no more. We have sailed far across the savage sea to reach this shore.

  “On a quest the Earth Spirit foretold. To a place destined for us to meet. It is she who led me to you. So shall we lead the others to their destiny. And all shall rejoice it is so.

  “Our craft lies a few short leagues farther along this shore. I set out two sunrises past, while my sisters went to explore in the opposite direction.

  “Even now am I long overdue, and they will wonder why I have not ye
t returned.

  “We will remain here this day,” she declares with finality. “We, too, encountered the sea-wolves, and it takes a full day, upon regaining consciousness, to fully recover.

  “Then, we will begin our journey back to my sisters. As soon as the suns begin their ascent over the sea.”

  Taking Adam by the hand, Mei-o-Peia leads him to a dry embankment at the river’s end and, sitting together, she expands on all that has befallen her and her six sisters since leaving their island home.

  The escape through the reef into the wide ocean beyond.

  The calamity that destroyed the island of cone-mountains.

  The trials the sisters encountered across the savage sea.

  And the fated landfall their spent, broken craft made on the shoreline to the west.

  Hers is a story long in the telling, and dusk already is settling in as she relates the final chapter.

  Mei-o-Peia’s emerald eyes sparkle as she confides the full import of the promise the Earth Spirit whispered in her dreams, and her long eyelashes flutter as she looks into her listener’s ice-blue eyes.

  “So, you see, Adam, I have been searching for you just as you have been seeking me.

  “Our meeting here is no accident. It is the fate the Earth Spirit ordained.”

  Her tale done, Mei-o-Peia turns to more practical, immediate matters. Wading into the river to spear fish while Adam collects enough dry driftwood to build a fire.

  And the couple spend the evening gazing at one another across the flames while Adam speaks his piece.

  About his six brothers, their parents and the homestead they share with the furry bipeds who domicile in the sea-cliff caves.

  About the love of discovery he shares with his brothers and their adventures exploring the Great Northern Fens.

  About the hopelessness of perpetuating their kind through a males-only generation.

  And about their resolve to strike out into the unknown region beyond the fens to seek other creatures like themselves in a hopeful quest for mates to extend their line.

  Adam’s narrative carries them deep into the night. And it is two heavy-lidded companions who finally drift asleep.

  Serenaded by the merry slap of fresh river water against a swift cross-current of sea and the rhythmic beat of gentle waves lapping the shoreline of the bay.

  Enervated by lingering effects of the sea-wolf’s neurotoxin and emotionally drained by his exciting encounter with the girl, Adam sleeps soundly and dreamlessly through the night.

  Not so, Mei-o-Peia.

  She is spellbound by the handsome visage, masculine form and musky scent of her companion, and she sleeps lightly this night. Her breathing is heavy so aroused is she, and her thoughts turn to the Earth Spirit and the bounty she knows will come of her union with Adam.

  Unable to keep her eyes closed, she stares up at a firmament afire with a million sparks of light. As she does, the stars coalesce into a stream of silver. Falling to the sandy soil beside her. Shifting shape to a figure she knows well.

  It is the Earth Spirit, and Mei-o-Peia’s breath catches as the astral maiden confides:

  “The seven sisters have done well. All have proven their worth. And all shall receive the reward I promised. Now you lie beside the one you have been seeking those many leagues across the savage sea.

  “But know this:

  “He is not the prize I promised you. He is the indispensable partner who will help secure the prize.

  “So it is for you. So it shall be for your sisters as well.

  “Together, you will ensure the future of the world.

  “This is our last visit.

  “My work is done.

  “Yours is just beginning!”

  On that final note, the maiden fades into silver starlight. Rising in a stream from the sandy earth. Returning the stars to their proper positions in the night sky.

  And Mei-o-Peia falls into deep, untroubled sleep. Comforted by the words of the astral maiden. And by the closeness of the one she knows is hers.

  Dawn is breaking when she awakens. To see Adam crouched beside her, staring in mute admiration.

  Uncoiling her feline form, she reaches out with one hand and draws his face down to hers. And kisses him fiercely with her full lips. Guiding his hands to her heaving chest, she whispers in a husky, throaty voice:

  “Here, Adam, feel my racing heart. It beats for you!”

  Like her sisters, Mei-o-Peia has not yet experienced intimacy with a man. But she has observed the rutting with the hideous males of her village. A brutal, painful assault from the rear like the village dogs.

  In fact, that was the one bearable aspect of the rutting: the woman did not have to gaze upon the hairless brute while enduring the pain of penetration.

  But this man is no hairless, hideous brute. He is handsome and stimulating—if a bit shy—and he is respectful of her every feeling and wish. She is most attracted to his ice-blue eyes, and she is resolved to look deeply within them during their lovemaking.

  Rising to her knees, she rolls Adam onto his back. Slipping aside the loincloth, she stretches one leg across his naked body. Braced on both knees astride his pelvis, she arches her back.

  Adam’s breath catches with the movement, and he pants for more. Intoxicated by the heady, redolent scent of a woman fully aroused. Flooding his flared nostrils. Drawing him compellingly to her need.

  While Mei-o-Peia sighs softly to the rhythm of her slow, fluid movements. Their excitement continues to build to its sublime culmination. Until, finally . . .

  He experiences a blinding starburst of light in his mind’s eye as his ecstasy finds release. And his soul sinks into a deep well of gratification. While she shudders at her release. Purring her contentment at the fulfillment.

  Their urgent hunger for each other sated, she collapses onto his muscular chest in sweet surrender. They remain locked together long minutes. Neither willing to let go of the other.

  Adam is bewitched by her intimacy and resolves to follow her lead wherever she will. For her part, Mei-o-Peia resolves to treasure this willing mate and guide their steps together into a hopeful future.

  First, though, she must lead him back to her sisters’ bivouac to the west. And then, she knows, they must all search farther westward for the six brothers.

  The couple disentangle themselves with great tenderness and many long kisses. As Adam reclaims his loincloth in respect to the traditions that are his.

  For her part, Mei-o-Peia neither needs nor desires clothing to conceal a body that has gone uncovered from birth.

  The physical and emotional strain of their lovemaking has given them both huge appetites, and they eat an early meal of fresh silver fish before turning their backs on the rising suns and setting forth on their journey.

  Meanwhile, several leagues to the west . . .

  Chapter 18. Men in the Mist

  Six bearded figures trudge along the shoreline of the bay. All are lithe and muscular. All wear thick beards beneath clipped manes of curly hair. And all have bronzed skin shimmering from their bodies except for groins, which are covered by loincloths.

  Shem is leading his brothers eastward in search of Adam who, he is sure, will be found wherever the eastern branch of the great river empties into the sea. They have been traveling this shore for many days since crossing the shallows of the western branch where it met the sea at the end of the riverine delta.

  It is nearly dusk when they come to a small stream flowing out of the dense reeds and carving a channel across the sandy beach to join with the bay. Long shadows reach out from the base of the tall reeds through the twilight like black fingers grasping at the sand.

  And there, looming from the shadow of the reeds, is a most unnatural, discrepant object.

  “It appears to be an abandoned craft of some sort,” Ham, third eldest brother, surmises, “a beached derelict washed ashore by the surf.”

  The curious brothers examine the craft, stem to stern. Then climb its wick
er skin to remove mats enclosing it at both ends.

  Dropping into the wicker shell, they are amazed at the ingenious construction, integrity and practicality of the craft: long supple ribs lashed securely together, gourds hung high along the sides, baskets anchored below the gunnels, and lengths of woven vine coiled along the base of the hull beneath the baskets. Shorter pieces of the same vine strap flanged poles to the lower lateral ribs just above the keel.

  Oddly, the craft has no rudder, making them wonder whether, despite its structural integrity, it was ever seaworthy. They fail to recognize the versatility of the flanged poles for steerage.

  But the most remarkable discovery has nothing to do with its structure or seaworthiness. It is the presence of seven mats secured to its ribs like hammocks. All perfectly proportioned to their own specifications.

  “We cannot know where this strange, rudderless craft came from,” Shem observes. “Or what manner of creatures crewed it. Or how or when it came to be here, on this remote shore.

  “But whoever or whatever they were, they possessed skill and craftsmanship. I am intrigued by the store of useful things, objects we ourselves would choose to bring on a voyage. And the sleeping berths are certainly suggestive.

  “But these are knots we will not untangle now,” he concludes, “and I think it best for us to take advantage of the hammocks and hospitality of the craft this night.”

  So exhausted are they by their long trek from the western river, the brothers make a quick meal of the silver fish teeming in the nearby stream and retire immediately into the wicker craft for a full night’s sleep.

  Their thoughts dwelling on the mystery of the wicker craft, they do not suspect the greater mystery they will confront on the morrow.

  Nor can they divine, in the oblivion of slumber, that their wicker cradle is disappearing into a blinding blanket of heavy fog rolling in from the bay.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Farther upstream, six feline forms glide noiselessly along the river bank. They march southward in long graceful strides, a habit they mastered through many silent approaches in stalking sharp-eared game along pathways through the thickly-treed rolling valleys and heavily-forested slopes on their island of cone-mountains.