Synopsis: Lost Amidst the Cosmic Storm
For time out of reckoning, the tribe has made its journey, searching the world for their lost brethren. When the long night has passed, its evils sleeping, the sun blessing the land with light and heat, the tribe leaves the safety of their island home. Upon the shores of the great continent they meet with strange and wondrous guides, a herd of giant lizards that are not only beasts of burden, but friends and protectors. Together the tribe and the herd follow the ancient path of the migration, facing the many hardships and dangers of the wild in their search.
But this is to be no ordinary journey. The long night has raged with many storms. The lowlands are thick with mud and stagnant water. Even with the help of the herd, travel is slow. Disease is rampant. Many of the lizards fall dead from some strange sickness that leaves their skin mottled. The mountain passes are all but washed away, nearly impenetrable. Darkness falls as the last leg of the journey comes, and with the darkness, the call of evil creatures rises on the wind.
The tribe is led by a young chief, strong and brave, but also thoughtful and wise. Some key to the past is lost in his mind. He is troubled by dreams about a time and place very different from the one he finds himself in. Of all the other members of the tribe, only he is old enough to remember what tragedy befell the mothers and fathers, and this memory haunts his every waking moment.
Also amongst them travels the mysterious Man-of-Sorrows. Old beyond telling, he is the ultimate law of the tribe. It is he who drives the tribe forward, never letting them become too comfortable in their island home or forget that they live for a higher purpose. He bares a strange penance, cords of light strung about his hands and feet, and he has been mutilated. His tongue has been cut out, and so he cannot share his knowledge of the time before. How he came by these torments, no one knows for sure.
For all the trouble and toil the tribe continues on. They go because legends say that their lost brothers and sisters are a magic people that will lead them back to the heavens from which they came. Through many adventures, the tribe comes to find their lost brethren, a people very different from themselves, and what the tribe learns about their past, their present, and their ultimate future is far stranger than they could ever imagine.
They are not natives to this world. They are the children of colonists, come from a planet far away, a planet called Earth. When the colonists reached the place that would become their new home, tragedy struck. The sun exploded, sending solar flares of incalculable magnitude into space, destroying their fragile technologies and making them crash land on the planet’s surface. Many of the colonists survived the disaster, only to be killed later by savage predators in the dark places of the world. But the children were protected by the herd, though too young to know their own history, building a mythology about those they seek and the strange circumstances they find themselves in. This story tells of the children’s last journey through the wilderness and what happens when they finally find their brethren and rescue.
Author Bio:
Mike Phillips is author of Hazard of Shadows, The World Below, Dawn of Ages, Reign of the Nightmare Prince and his new book, Lost Amidst the Cosmic Storm. His short stories have appeared in ParAbnormal Digest, Cemetery Moon, Sinister Tales, Beyond Centauri, the World of Myth, Mystic Signals and many others. Online, his work has appeared inLorelei Signal, Kzine, Bewildering Stories, Midnight Times, and Fringe. He is best known for his Crow Witch and Patrick Donegal series. Please visit Mike at mikephillipsfantasy.com.
Hazard of Shadows: Chronicles of the Goblin King Book Two
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Hazard-
The World Below: Chronicles of the Goblin King Book One
Dawn of Ages
Reign of the Nightmare Prince
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Reign-
Lost Amidst the Cosmic Storm
Chapter One
The bronti stank with disease. Thick hide burning with sores, throat choked with sickness, the giant reptile trudged on, making its way across the grass covered plain. The bronti was lost. It had fallen behind and then wandered far from the herd. Astray in the wild, alone, its feeble calls brought no comfort or aid, only cold-blooded beasts with wide jaws and forward pointing eyes.
The bronti herd was ever at the head of the great migration, grazing the tall blades of grass down to a manageable height for the lesser creatures that followed. Such giants would never have been considered prey if healthy or even if in close proximity to the herd and its fiercely defended, mobile borders.
This one, however, had lost the safety of numbers. It had grown weak. Its spore, fragrant with rot to those with a keen sense, caught the special interest of a hunting pair. Now the dagger-toothed, forked-tongued trexans found a great bounty. Giants in their own right, deadly hunters, the bipedal reptiles left their usual hunting grounds, the lure of death too much for them to resist.
The trail started at the downward slope of the mountains and reached across the wastelands. The trexans crossed a barren desert of scorching sand and stone, following the herd. At last, they came to a lush plain and then caught the opportunity of prey, alone, unguarded.
But, the pair had been unwise in their greed. They ventured too far ahead of the great migration, too far ahead of the smaller herbivores and predators over which they could exert some dominance.
At the end of a long trail they found this massive, sick creature, this thing that held such a rich promise of meat. Brought to near madness by desire, starving and beginning to weaken, they became desperate, they became bold.
Practiced in the art, the hunters spied out their prey. Ever cautious, expecting rescue, they watched and waited but no help came. The bronti was truly alone. As the trexans formed attack position, the bronti rested its massive frame upon the ground and let its giant head drop. The beast was laboring hard and perhaps about to breathe its last. It was time to attack.
Appearing from behind an outcropping of rock, claws finding purchase on the edge, the first trexan roared and launched itself toward its victim. The second followed, not a breath behind. Hearing the predator’s challenge, the bronti wailed in fear. Sipping air through swollen nostrils, eyes crusted over, it struggled to find the source of the threat. Panicked and desperate, the bronti picked itself up. Finding new strength, it ran headlong into the grasslands.
The trexans came fast, closing the ground between them, wild for lust and blood. Calling to each other, they taunted their victim. The bronti wailed, unable to gather enough air into its sick lungs to drive its legs forward at such a frantic pace. The beast stumbled, but recovered, and continued to run for its life.
Nipping at the heels of the bronti, tasting flesh, the hunting pair split to each side of their immense prey. The long tail of the bronti swung, missing the smaller, but sending the message that it would not so easily be defeated. Moments later, the larger of the trexans ventured too close. Feeling the press of its enemy, the brontikicked out with a hind leg, sending the trexan sprawling to the ground.
As the larger trexan picked itself up and returned to the assault, the second made ground. It was now up to the shoulder of the bronti. Jumping into the air, it snapped at the long neck. The hunter glanced off again and again, unable to fix its jaws on the bronti’s neck and make the death grip it sought.
The bronti stumbled, taking a savage bite in the hind leg from the larger of the mighty predators. Though slowed, the wound did it little harm. Fear was now the greater enemy, fear and the strain on its ailing internal organs. A second bite from the big trexan to the leg held firm. In its weakened state, the bronti was overcome. With a rumble that shook the world, it crashed to the ground.
****
Ready to finish the job, biting down the bronti’s throat until the creature breathed no more, the second trexan reared back its head. Mighty jaws gaping, as it bent to make the kill, a fiery pain stabbed its eye. Blinded, shocked, the hunter clawed at the wound, trying to loosen the brand.
Fire lit the tip of its nose, making it cry out in pain. Into its open maw came first one and then another stab of fire until its whole mouth was ablaze. The trexanfell onto its side, clawing at the source of its torment. A sharp stab of pain, up into its nostril, and the trexan felt no more.
A queer howl arose. Neither the remaining hunter nor its dead companion had ever heard such a noise before. It was not so great a roar as their own. The howl sounded more like a last desperate breath, made as a victim’s throat was crushed, rather than a challenge.
The remaining trexan drew its bloody snout from the leg of the bronti and felt its eye pierced. Pained, it flailed its head. Something glanced off its snout. It was stung over and over, though not anywhere that mattered. As it whipped its head round, it spied what it was that attacked.
It was a tiny, alien creature. It stood half as tall as it did at the shoulder, but the alien creature had hardly a body at all to support its height. More of the tiny creatures gathered, surrounding, encircling. The little things moved very swiftly and were quick to get out of striking distance. They were able to fling something like a horn that was painful when it struck.
Fighting back, the monstrous reptile wailed and lunged after them. The little ones scattered in all directions, keeping the trexan off guard. Taking refuge behind a rock, they loosed their weapons again. The hunter decided to keep moving lest it be struck in a tender spot.
It moved but it did not retreat. It charged the funny little creatures with the bad smell and weak voices, tracking their wild and supple movements with its one good eye. The little things fled before it, running in all directions. The trexan snapped at the nearest, missed the deathblow by a fraction but sent the thing hurtling to the ground.
The hunter raised its head, fixing its gaze upon its prey, and reared back to strike. Pain caused it to shudder and turn away, a burning fire in its blind eye. Thetrexan roared. One of the little things had returned to protect the other. It stood fast, a horn stuck out straight before it as the other sought refuge behind a rock.
The trexan turned from the smaller prey and met the challenge. It reached out to take the thing in its mighty jaws, but a horn poked it in the mouth. More pain came to its mouth. The small one had grown bold again.
The tiny hunters were suddenly coming from all directions, flinging their horns and howling to each other. The trexan swung its head and struck at one that had ventured within reach, missed, and gave quick chase. The little thing ran away. It hid behind the ailing bronti that had brought the trexan to this cursed place.
Without warning, the small one sent a horn that stuck painfully into its snout, a tender area of the nostril. The little one gave a call. It received something from its protector, more of the flying horns.
The unlucky trexan roared defiance at them, turning to confront them. It would not be defeated. Again into its mouth came the pain. With one great stride, it was upon them. As it bent to rip them to pieces, the trexan felt a horn glide up its nose and send it to death.
****
A shout arose from the little creatures, the four young men, as the monstrous reptile shuddered and fell to the ground, its brain pierced. They slapped hands and embraced, celebrating victory.
The defender of the fallen, Marquette, spoke, “Let us give thanks for the safe return of our comrade.”
In deference, the others joined him for a moment of silence. Tall and well muscled, Marquette was the chief. When he was satisfied they had paid the proper respect for their fortunes, he whooped with delight.
“I’d say we were just in time,” laughed Baraga. He was the trexan’s little one, the one that had come so near to death. He was a head shorter than the others, with a baby face and pale skin.
In the end, it was Baraga’s arrow that found its mark. It was his victim that now lay dead upon the plain. “Not bad work for a little walk. Jones, Bradford, one of you guys want the teeth?”
“The honor belongs to you and Marquette. You were the bravest in battle,” Jones replied.
Bradford agreed with a nod of his head. They were not as old as Marquette, but they were taller and their young bodies were showing signs that they would soon surpass him in strength.
“I wish to bestow my honors upon you three,” Marquette, the chief, said with a formal bow.
“I don’t call it brave. I call it bad luck. I just got in the way. Besides, collecting trophies doesn’t mean much to me,” Baraga said.
Marquette cleared his throat.
Looking uncomfortably to the chief, he corrected himself, “What I meant to say is that honor comes from the respect of one’s friends, not from trophies. Take them, please. You deserve it. Let these be symbols of your bravery. You helped take the first and defended me while battling the second. The killing shot could just as easily have been one of yours.”
“Thank you,” Jones said.
“Thank you,” Bradford repeated, bowing, “but what of the meat? We are in great need.”
“Not great need,” Marquette corrected. “The huntsmen will soon return. Besides, if the stench of meat is upon us, then this sick one will not follow us back to the herd and our errand will be of little consequence.”
Baraga said, “If we take the time to start a fire and cook the meat, it will wake up and wander off again.”
“We came to save it and that is what we have done. If we must forgo the meat of this kill then we must.”
“Oh, you don’t mean?” said Baraga, complaining, disgusted.
“Yes. You know how to best recover a stray,” admonished the chief. “One of us must make ourselves smell as the herd smells. That is why we brought the pack.”
“Maybe this one will follow if we whistle,” Baraga suggested hopefully.
“No.”
“Or, you know, we could sing a catchy tune, maybe that one about the Amazing Grace. If you murder it as badly as you do everything else, your caterwauling might drive it before us like clouds before a storm.”
“Very funny.”
“Good, does that mean I don’t have to be the one? I gave up my trophies. Remember? That must count for something.”
“No.”
“Please?” Baraga looked hopefully to the others. Neither volunteered.
“I will draw four pieces of grass and wrap them in my hand. Whoever takes the longest blade will become the herd and lead the stray. It will be fair. Each will have the same chance and an equal risk.”
“Why don’t you just use that special way you have with them? You know, whisper in its ear like you do and get us a ride home?”
“We don’t even know if it can travel,” Jones interrupted. “It fell pretty hard, probably broke its legs.”
“And why did it just fall?” Bradford asked. “It wasn’t hurt that bad.”
“It collapsed from the effort. The bronti cannot run for an extended period of time,” Marquette explained. “And do not worry about the fall. It is a tough one, just sick, that is all. I am sure its legs are fine.”
“Besides, you can tell by the way it hit the ground,” Baraga added. “They fall with their legs out. If anything, they crack a few ribs. It’s good to go, all right. You’ll see. It’s exhausted now but happy to carry us home in a bit, no need to do anything rash like becoming the herd.”
“Yes, the animal is fine, and while you are ministering to its needs, I will select the blades of grass,” Marquette said with a smile. “Let us find our packs.”
The packs were stowed behind a nearby rock. Baraga set to work preparing the shredded herbs that would be used to cure the sick bronti. Taking the medicine from his pack by the handful, he stuck it into the creature’s nose as it breathed, rushing the medicine into the blood.
When he finished, Marquette presented a handful of grass. They each made a reluctant selection.
“Oh, why does it always happen to me?” Baraga groaned as the four revealed their choices. Though he was given the honor of going first, he could not avoid the duty of becoming the herd. “For all my stupid, rotten luck!”
“That’s one tree you didn’t see behind at least,” Jones said, chuckling. “I thought you might be inclined to cheat.”
“Me? Cheat?” Baraga said, feigning a sour look. “Yep, only if I could.”
Rising, weakened in the extreme due to its efforts, hardly able to move for the pain that inundated its muscles, the bronti came slowly to its feet. It breathed heavily and then sniffed the bodies of the dead trexan.
“It is time,” the chief said.
Baraga suggested hopefully, “Best two out of three?”
Marquette did not respond. He opened the single pack that had been set aside and reached in. When he withdrew his hand, he held a thick chunk of dung.
“Would you like to remove your shirt first?”
“Well, yeah,” Baraga said, scrambling to do so.
The giant lizard took a few careful steps, testing its legs. The wounds it received from the predators had already scabbed over. Growing more confident, it cried out, a long sorrowful wail to its lost companions.
Marquette waited until Baraga was ready, then smeared the dung all over his back, arms and chest until the pack was empty. It stank. Though trying not to show his disgust, he wiped his hands clean on the grass.
“There now, we must go.”
As the young men started across the plain, the bronti, though blinded and breathing with difficulty, went after them, following the familiar scent. Its encounter with the trexans was seemingly all but forgotten. The creature might even have begun to feel good, now that it was safely back with friends.
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