Paradox Moon: The First Book of Regenesis Read online

  Green is shade.

  Green is water.

  Green is food.

  It is a prospect that lightens the step of every member of the band as they trek under a relentless sun through trackless sands. Huddling often against the merciless heat of day. The nearer they approach the welcoming pampas, the less onerous the journey seems.

  But they are physically spent when, as night falls, they reach the tall green grass and collapse in its embrace. Even thirst cannot postpone their deep, contented slumber this night.

  The sun is directly overhead when the band begins to stir, and they awaken in a green realm of sheltering reeds and broad, leafy chlorophyll blades. So thick is the pampas grass the sun can only wink down at them between its dense blades.

  It is cool.

  It is moist.

  It is the protective womb of life itself.

  Detecting a soft, gurgling sound, the leader discovers a narrow rill close by. After slaking their thirst, the band plunges through the pampas in a direction away from the desert they just barely survived. It is not long before the rill widens into a shallow pool whose surface is broken by the crisscrossing fins of the band’s familiar prey.

  The leader motions the band to fall out in place, and he decides to bivouac here while they feast and regain the stamina so severely depleted by the desert crossing. The band rests by the pool all that day and the next, while the leader and his two hunters scout the reedy way ahead.

  At the opposite end of the pool, the water rushes away in a wide, shallow wash. That is where the scouts begin their expedition. The wash runs only a short distance before petering out into the earth under a wide, low ledge of rock, like some invisible waterfall pouring directly into the ground.

  The leader gives little thought to where the water is going; his attention is fixed on where the bare, open ground beyond the ledge is going.

  It is a wide, smooth, natural stone path carving a broad corridor through the dense pampas. Open to the fullness of day, the path is brightly lit and seemingly endless. The scouts strike out into the corridor, thankful to find such an easy course for the band to follow.

  The path traces a gently winding way transected by frequent shallow rills of cool, clear rushing water.

  It has an undulating quality. Numerous steep inclines lead the travelers to elevated heights whose hillsides disappear in sheer drops. Equally steep declines take them to depths that make the same hillsides tower above them. The contrasting gradients are unnerving but, thankfully, the lengthier stretches of path are straight and level.

  It is on one such level stretch that night catches the scouts, and they curl up to sleep on its wide rocky surface.

  Chapter 20. False Eden

  The man stretches languorously in the coolness of the pampas as the winking rays of sunshine wake him. Looking up, he sees a gentle stir of green foliage, filtering the sun’s light in and out and making him blink at the motion. He is closed in by reedy grass stalks on all sides, and the verdant ambience soothes his troubled spirit, blunting the loneliness and anxiety of his separation from the band.

  Noting the disturbed foliage marking the direction he came, the man carefully scans the opposite wall of reeds seeking an opening. There is a narrow gap which, as he squeezes through, opens onto a navigable path leading deeper into the pampas.

  The going is difficult as the path meanders left and right, its uneven surface littered with mounds of deadfall and an obstructive scatter of keen-edged stones. But the man is determined to find a fresh source of sustenance. His resolve is soon rewarded by the promising echo of falling water.

  Rounding a particularly abrupt, blind bend flanked by dense grass stalks, he comes upon a scene that catches his breath and stops him in his tracks.

  It is a sylvan glade whose shimmering green aura reflects off every stalk and leaf of glistening wet pampas. At its center is a deep, crystal-clear pool of fresh sweet water fed by a gently cascading, merrily gurgling waterfall. Rising from the pool’s agitated surface at the base of the fall is a brilliant rainbow radiating every prismatic wave of light.

  As the man breathes in the moist mist, a small fin ripples the placid margin of the pool.

  He fancies he has, indeed, found Eden!

  Turning his attention to the flora fringing the glade, he discovers diminutive papaya-shaped fruit whose bright yellow pods stand out in colorful contrast to the bright-green foliage around them. He does not suspect this forbidden fruit will transport him to an unreality surpassing even the altered reality he is living in this unfamiliar world.

  Unsheathing his knife, he cuts off several pods, stuffing a few in his pockets and slicing through the husks of others to reveal the soft reddish pulp within. The fruit is delicious and filling, and soon the man is standing amongst the scoured out husks of several pods.

  While he does not dwell on it, he is distracted by the unnatural cleanliness of the glade—of its grounds and its crystal pool. He finds it odd to see such an immaculate place where plants grow and fish swim. There is not an imperfection or stray bit of flotsam in the pool and, except for the shelled husks he just discarded, not a bit of litter on the ground.

  But enough pointless distraction! The sun is yet high in the sky, and he knows he still has far to go.

  That is when the man makes a fateful decision.

  Seduced by the enchanting aura of the glade, he decides to pause here to eat, rest and sleep this night before continuing his journey. Delighting in its natural beauty and peaceful repose, he feels he is drifting in a dream.

  Little does he divine the nocturnal presence it will release with the departure of day.

  Little does he apprehend the primeval life-form dwelling in the benthic depths directly beneath this false Eden!

  As shadows lengthen across the glade, the contentment of a sated stomach and sweet serenity summon sleep, and the man slips into a deep, relaxed slumber.

  He awakens in a psychedelic, twilight state at the edge of consciousness. It is a mind-bending dream that takes on a tactile quality and sensual reality he has never before felt beyond wakefulness.

  The silence of the dream is shattered suddenly by an eerie, ominous, sucking slap. A moment later, broad, flat objects brush over his body and, pausing briefly, press softly on his heaving chest before withdrawing entirely.

  That is when the man leaves his sleeping body and takes a watchful interest in the curious goings-on around the glade.

  The darkness is total and, peer as he will, he cannot discern the author of the sluicing, tympanic vibrations beginning at the deep pool and moving purposefully into the inky blackness around him. It is as if something heavy is crossing liquid mud on many hurrying feet—making a hollow, sucking noise with each fleeting footfall. The sound stops as abruptly as it began and, in the strained stillness of the dark, a glowing phosphorescence reveals the creature in the glade.

  It is a monstrous version of the primordial amphipods that scavenge the deepest trenches under the oceans of his own world!

  The diaphanous beast casts a cold-white, luminous glow, and its hunch-back posture gives it an appearance of demonic disfigurement. In the crescent of its thorax are lateral pairs of grasping, segmented uniramous appendages. All of them reach out and back with oar-shaped feet, marvelously suited to its aquatic element.

  As he watches, the creature scoops up the discarded husks from the man’s afternoon meal and, grasping them tightly, returns to the pool and disappears into its depth.

  This explains the immaculate condition of the glade. The aquatic monster is its caretaker, keeping it clear of litter for reasons the man cannot fathom.

  He spends the remainder of the night in troubled contemplation of the creature and its inexplicable behavior in the glade. He is sure it scanned his sleeping body and when it felt his breathing gave him no further notice. From this, he surmises . . .

  Like its amphipod cousins on earth who feed only on the dead things that drift down to their abyssal depth, this creat
ure is interested not in the living but in the dead.

  That will be cold comfort to the man when he falls into the monster's clutches the next day!

  The early light of morning greets his questioning gaze as the man tries to shake off lingering visions of his visitation in the night. He dismisses them as the fanciful creation of some opioid side effect of the papaya-shaped fruit he ate the day before. Resolved to be more guarded in his consumption of the unfamiliar fruits of this world, he decides to begin this new day with a breakfast of fresh-caught fish.

  As the fish have gathered at the base of the fall, he clambers onto the raised rocky edge of the pool and begins to bend down to scoop some up. But as he glances beyond the pool, the scene makes him freeze in his leaning stance.

  The papaya husks he discarded yesterday are gone, and the ground beneath the tree is swept clean!

  The man is so startled he loses his balance and slips into the pool. He scarcely breaks the surface when the water next to him becomes agitated and he is seized tightly by the creature from his dream.

  The primeval monster does not hesitate but drags him immediately to the center of the pool and under its surface.

  The man mouths a final breath and prayer as the water closes over him.

  But his end will not be so quick or near.

  Slicing through the water at lightning speed, the backward-facing oar-like feet propel the creature and its captive into a submerged cave and follow its winding course to a wide, dry stone shelf at the opening of a lighted tunnel. There, the monster resurfaces, depositing its captive, and immediately dives back into the underwater cave.

  Nearly spent by exhaustion from his forced submersion with its suffocating lack of air, the man coughs up throatfuls of water and gasps in oxygen. With each ragged breath, he inhales stomach-turning gulps of foul, tainted putrefaction.

  The shelf is a cache of all the dead things the creature has collected on the surface of the pool and in the glade: dried and withered husks and fronds, bones and decomposing flesh of fish, even the mummified remains of long-dead, unrecognizable creatures equipped to dwell on land.

  Recoiling at the rancid reek of rotting refuse, the man is humbled to realize he has just been taken out with the rest of the trash.

  Dreading the creature’s return, he does not know that the monster which deposited him here poses no threat. That it is a ghoul, feeding only on the liquified, digestible remains of the dead things that find their way to the deep bottom of its abyssal pool in the glade.

  Frantic to escape the clammy, fetid atmosphere, the man crawls away from the dry ledge and into the tunnel.

  Creeping haltingly toward its distant light.

  Chapter 21. Night Crawlers

  Many days and many nights have passed since the leader guided his band into the wide, open corridor through the dense pampas.

  It has leveled out to a smooth, even pathway passing as straight as an arrow’s flight through the thick foliage. As the corridor narrows, the broad blades of green pampas close over the band, forming a living tunnel. Eclipsing the sun’s direct light, the canopy bathes the path ahead in a dim, verdant light limning every chlorophyll blade.

  While the trek through the open corridor has been long and wearisome, the journey through the closed tunnel is monotonous and interminable. The stalks on both sides of the path are as uniform and repetitive as the seamless canopy above, and every day-long leg of progress is identical to the one before it.

  If it were not for the diurnal brightening and nocturnal darkening of the canopy overhead, the leader would lose all reckoning in this closed space where time and distance seem to stand still. Soon, he will long for this monotony and rare respite from the menace of a savage world.

  After following a perfectly level course for many more days and nights, the tunnel abruptly plunges downward for a short stretch before regaining its level, forward direction. The declivity is quite steep, and the members of the band descend it in a hand-to-hand chain to prevent any from tumbling. Their descent is uneventful, and the leader is heartened to hear a rush of water by the side of the path.

  It is a swiftly running stream fed by many rivulets gushing through the base of the dense green stalks, dropping crazily from many smoothly worn stones. They join in a fleeting rush of water that flows back into the earth next to the level path. Happily, the overflow bleeds off into a nearby collection pool whose placid surface is rippled by the crisscrossing fins of the band’s prey.

  The leader motions the band to fall out in place, determined to spend the brief remainder of this day and this night at this providential place which offers both food and water. They barely finish their meal before the darkness deepens and, contented and full, they curl up on the pathway to sleep.

  They do not witness the silent upheaval of soft earth beside the short tributary between stream and pool. The mounds of moist, slime-emitting reptilian skin rising out of the ground into the blackness of night.

  The unseen creatures slither away from the stream’s banks and slink into the pool. There, they begin feeding on the thick, matted vegetation lining its bottom.

  One of the band’s hunters is awakened by the sensation of wet mud running down one furry arm. Brushing it off with his other hand, he wonders what it could be. While his vision is blurred by the darkness, he perceives irregularities in the surface of ground that was smooth and even when he retired for the night. Gently and silently, he shakes his fellow hunter and their leader awake and points toward the disturbed ground along the near bank of the stream.

  Three furry figures leave the path and follow the broken earth to the edge of the pool, where they kneel to examine the several trails of slimy residue tracking across the ground into the water.

  Gliding silently on their pedal-mucus, like the slugs of another world, the giant gastropods of this world have left the tell-tale traces of their passage from earth to water. As the hunters kneel, popping sounds break the silence of the pool.

  Several mounds of glistening scales erupt to its surface, and long, probing tongues begin lashing out in every direction. The leader is nearly impaled by the rigid, twin barbs at the end of one searching tongue, and he suffers a splash of venom which dissolves a patch of fur on his thigh. Appalled at the speed and lethality of the venom, he utters an urgent cry of alarm and the three bipeds bolt back in the direction of the path.

  The entire band is in full flight as the gastropods in the pond submerge and resume their bottom-feeding.

  The light of day is beginning to chase away the blackness of the tunnel when the leader finally motions the band to fall out and rest. As they settle down, the leader notices a discernible brightening in the distance.

  They are nearing the tunnel’s end.

  Chapter 22. Edge of the World

  The man makes it only a few yards into the lighted tunnel when he passes out and slips into the profound slumber of the near-dead. The encounter with the amphipod has drained all his energy, all his strength, all his reserve. He is left with only the restorative promise of deep, deep sleep.

  It is a promise that consumes fully two days and two nights.

  Waking weakly on the morning of the third day, the man proceeds to climb, slowly and gingerly, toward the beckoning light. Near as it is, he does not reach it. He passes a third day and night in restful sleep.

  He awakens the following morning much strengthened and refreshed, albeit with a parching thirst. This time, he easily makes it to the light at the tunnel’s end, where . . .

  He narrowly escapes hideous death!

  Reaching the end of the tunnel, the man is momentarily blinded by the harsh sunlight as his extended foot finds no purchase. He is balanced precariously on one foot, his other leg dangling over the void.

  With herculean effort, he throws his shoulders backward and narrowly avoids falling to his death on a valley floor thousands of feet straight down the sheer wall of rock at the tunnel’s end.

  Landing on his back, the man gets up slow
ly, leans carefully forward and nearly becomes dizzy viewing the distance of the deep downward drop. And he is nearly dazed by the width of the valley, whose other side is too far away to see.

  The man has never felt so puny and insignificant as he does at this moment, looking out for the first time at this great valley, so vast is its scale.

  Surveying it in all its vivid vermillion majesty, the man realizes, of course, this is the continental rift valley that so impressed him during his global mapping mission. Viewed at this more intimate level, it is a completely different and more mysterious place than the superficial contours he viewed from space.

  He is thankful now for that fly-over perspective and knowledge of what lies before him.

  The cinnabar hues of the rift valley are eminently fitting, he reflects, symbolizing the eternal nature of the place and its continental magnitude. He is witness now to an immensity that blurs the far reaches of the valley into an indistinct horizon.

  How, he wonders, will he ever cross it?

  Scanning the rocky surface surrounding the mouth of his tunnel, he spots a narrow slash of deep black he suspects is the entrance to a neighboring cave. While the wall here is sheer, there are several rocky outcrops—like stepping-stones--that lead to the dark shadow and, he hopes, a route of escape from the sheer drop at the tunnel’s mouth.

  The man does not hesitate but immediately climbs across the supportive stepping-stones and is soon standing in the entrance of a large, downward-sloping cave. After a short trek, he finds himself in utter darkness and then proceeds more slowly, feeling his way along the cave’s wall as he goes. It is not long before a familiar sound causes him to halt, straining to locate its direction and source.

  It is the trickling melody of running water, and it is directly ahead of him. Soon, he is cupping his hands to catch the precious life-giving fluid streaming in narrow rills down the cave wall. He drinks and drinks and drinks.

  His thirst slaked, the man resumes his descent with new hope. But the way is too long, and he is forced to sleep in the dark bowels of the cave. His slumber is uninterrupted, and he awakens refreshed and eager to go on. Soon he is standing in full sunlight on the valley’s level floor.