Clarity's Doom (Ancient Origins Book 1) Page 3

  A tiny light grew in velocity beneath her. The end was near; her end was near. Clarity braced for impact. She screamed when she became airborne. The sudden shift made her belly flip. The light hurt her eyes after seeing nothing but darkness. Her arms still wrapped around her head, knees tucked to her chest, she curled into a tight ball waiting for the inevitable.

  Chapter Two

  The tingling of his skin told Doom when it was time to leave the safety of the village and venture to his fate. Has it been a month already? Each time there was a harvest of innocents, Doom walked to the cave of sadness, named as such by him, and sat quietly while the etching on his body drew a path of despair on his flesh. Each line, each mark engraved on his soul. Their faces and other beloved images blurred, there were so many. The darkness offered a single comfort. There was nowhere to show his reflection as two single tears made their way down his cheeks. There was nowhere his damning gaze could reflect to condemn him, confront him.

  Eyes squeezed tight against the pain, he waited where he knew the brilliance of life would sluice across his skin. There would be no blood, but his flesh was stained with suffering. His sharp breath was the only indication of when the assault started. He swallowed hard once, twice, then settled. Over the course of a year, he tried to connect with each individual he would lead to the slaughter. Not all images were faces. A coveted item, a hammer, or other tool the victim created intertwined across his skin to mix and mingle with the others. The marks were loathed and welcomed. An image of death on his skin meant life for his people, at least for another year.

  When the movement across his skin stopped, Doom opened his eyes. He hadn’t moved; yet, his limbs were heavy from exhaustion. Each passing year, the etching took longer as the quota for the hybrids increased. The beasts were insatiable, their need for humans snowballing. With a small shift, he took a deep breath and turned toward the hint of light he had hidden from. He didn’t want to look and at times refused to see the markings. His will wasn’t great enough this time for one reason: he owed his victims that glance.

  There she was, her beautiful face etched into his body, a remembrance for eternity. Doom knew it would be her face to haunt him. The only thing she’d coveted was him. Her sweet infatuation would have been his undoing, if he had let her in. He kept his distance to a degree, never letting her close enough to consume his soul. There was time for that after she was gone. If he had spared her, one of his people would have died. If he went in her place, every soul he promised to release would be damned. He must die whole, not ripped to shreds. The images must remain intact. Doom would know when it was his turn for death. Wishing his demise didn’t bring the end any swifter.

  He lifted his fingers to gently caress the tattoo. Smooth flesh a deceit when every inch was a dagger to his soul. That one face stood out, bolder than the rest—the one he struggled with. If she had only been a year younger, if not blossomed, if only a child in the hybrids’ minds…. Doom’s entire life was filled with ‘if only’.

  “Fear not, young one. When I die, you will come with me into the valley of souls where you will be free.”

  The idea was his salvation. The first time the markings appeared, he knew somehow they were his penance and his saving grace. A day would come when the victims would find peace and happiness. Doom swore it on his life, on their deaths. For now, the mark was his solace. He would carry her reflection forever. As long as he remembered her, the Seers would also. The Seers would know of her sacrifice to save his people. The Seers saw everything, how could they not? They shone from the skies, giant hearths, the moon and sun but mostly the stars. Each ancestor blinking down on him and his people were revered.

  Rising, Doom strode to the clear pond. The light green of the water reflected his appearance. He hated his image. His hair gone, from stress, he had no doubt. Six foot six, two hundred and eighty pounds, a mighty and powerful male. Helpless. His chiseled features gazed back, mirrored in his glare. Stone cold brown eyes filled with fury as he took in each one of his tattoos. At least, those he could see. Mercifully, the ones he couldn’t see were the marks of his own people when their quota came up short. Each mark one of fury, sorrow, and hope.

  “You will all be reborn. You have the word of a warrior, a doomed warrior, a warrior who no longer battles, but my word can’t be taken from me. Only a liar and a coward breaks his word. I swear, if I have nothing else, no one can steal my oath. In life, I could not save you. In death, I will make it my mission to free you.”

  When that death would come he had no clue, but he had a gut instinct. While there was room for a single image to adorn his body he would breathe life. The bare glimpses of tanned skin left gave him hope and dread. For now, his people were safe…for another year. Another year to hope their sorry existence would lead to substance. Doom was allowed to dream. But he did so in private. After years of dreaming the same dream, the images drifted further into the abyss of his mind. When dreams turned to fables, dreams became less as hope died. Reality, though harsh, was what ultimately defined existence.

  The new collection already begun for the next harvest, sacrifices would be found not only for his tribe but for others. The Neandersauri were settled into their small slumber after their feast of death, or perhaps they celebrated. Perhaps they danced on the moon. Speculation made his head throb. The possibilities were endless. The longer he deliberated, the further his mind was assaulted.

  Let it go.

  Once the humans were released on their own in the forested jungle, they no longer belonged to Doom. Not that they ever belonged to him, merely kept in trust. A broken trust. No villager was allowed to leave the safety of home until the writing had been cast. It wasn’t safe in the jungle this time of year; other animals were on edge. Doom was lucky the hybrid creatures were satiated for so long. The creatures ate other beings, but he had no idea why they wanted the beings from Earth and had for some time. Sacrifices? Food? The conundrum kept him awake nights. For now, it was time to return to his people and see how they fared.

  Fog infiltrated the surrounding foliage. Wispy tendrils of smoke from the village fires rose off in the distance. The scent of cooler air filtered through his nostrils, nothing more. Scent was everything on his planet. Normally, once the unsuspecting caught a whiff of a creature before seeing it there was hell to pay. By the time a dinosaur was visible, you were dead. Not far from where Doom walked, he heard the unmistakable cry of a child. A dangerous noise if not heeded quickly. No child in his village was left unattended, and every child from his village knew sound was deadly in the open. The voice had to be from a recent gathering from the dark holes. Children were never sacrificed, not from any village. Doom moved toward the weeping. He heard the stumble of little feet on the few old leaves. Children tended to look at everything at once, except where they were going, when afraid and sometimes when they weren’t.

  The child Doom stumbled across brought a smile to his lips. Black tousled hair and cornflower blue eyes were a charming mix on the tiny imp. He was spindly as Earth children usually were, thin arms and legs, dressed in the material others called pajamas. His small blue shirt was filthy, but there was a cute pattern of a large smiling green creature with antennae on the front. His feet were bare. A human boy could be spared. The Neandersauri were only after mature individuals, and a child could be given to a waiting couple.

  The little one, perhaps five, stopped motionless and gazed way up. A warrior was a daunting figure, but Doom learned some of the little Earth humans had imposing fathers, warriors of sorts who fought for their country. Some young ones he came across would dry their eyes and ask him if he was their daddy. The childish wondering words led him to believe Earth soldiers were away fighting their own battles. He wished the holes would offer over their warrior fathers instead of their weak, their old men, frightened men, or helpless women and children. Doom wanted to rage to the skies to send him someone who could help his people fight before it was too late. Instead, he assessed the boy. This boy appeared
dazed. He must have recently exited a sinkhole.

  Doom dropped to a knee. “Don’t be afraid, little one. I won’t hurt you. It’s scary out here alone, isn’t it?”

  The boy nodded. “Yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  The boy held up a hand with all five fingers splayed. “I was sleepin’, am I dreamin’?”

  “No, this is no dream.”

  “Then I’m lost.”

  Doom smiled. “How can you be lost when I’ve found you? I know a couple who have been waiting a long time for you. They will be pleased you have finally arrived.”

  The child cocked his head. “I want my mommy and daddy.”

  “The couple are your mommy and daddy and waiting in my village and will be happy to see you.”

  Doom never mentioned a child’s old family. Parents would never find a child here. There was no way to search for them. This was the boy’s home now. Like all of his people, Doom was responsible for him. Doom scooped him up and the child sobbed in his grasp; he weighed nothing. Little arms wrapped around his neck. He smelled of fresh soap even though covered in dirt. His clothing was damp, not wet, but Doom wondered if he had recently been bathed and perhaps put to bed. His parents were either dead or wandering elsewhere. There had never been an incident where a child came through a sinkhole with parents. Doom held the boy to his chest and soothed him.

  “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything hurt you, sweetheart.”

  Doom rose and began walking. The ones he could save didn’t haunt him. Even when they cried in fear, they were safe. The children were welcomed into the fold. The child was lucky Doom found him. The boy was early. Normally, a harvest didn’t begin this soon on this part of the planet. Doom wasn’t positive, but he thought some older hybrids migrated to a warmer climate. Some stayed, watched, and waited. When the harvest of humans began, it customarily started with the young ones. With the hybrids sated, the children were safe from them, but not from everything. The forest was no place for the vulnerable. Other creatures resided here besides the hybrids. Many carnivores could make a meal of one so young and tender.

  From the foliage Doom saw a creature. To others, the creature might appear camouflaged. Not to Doom. His father once told him Doom’s vision was a gift passed from leader to son. The fact he was also ambidextrous where most of his warriors were right handed aided the hunt. Doom stooped to pick up a rock and pitched it at the carnivore. The beast yelped and fled on two long legs with its tail stretched back and waving. There would be no sneaking up on unsuspecting prey for that beast at this moment.

  As Doom approached his village, the child gasped and buried his head deeper into Doom’s chest. This was something the warrior understood. People of Earth had a strange history of a meteor and ice age. Doom’s planet had suffered through neither. As a result the humans were in terrified awe of the beasts they called dinosaurs. Creatures that were and were not like those of the ancient bones archeologists on Earth found. The subject was a favorite discussion of Doom’s when humans began arriving. After time, the strongest and fastest animals thrived on his planet. That didn’t always mean the largest. Many of the massive dinosaurs of old were hunted and killed, their brains too small for survival. Other creatures bred and mixed to create the beings now waking the planet. Dinosaur life evolved as did the land’s people.

  Of those dinosaur beings was the malevolent bulwark, a mixture of cave bear and dire wolf with the intensity of a wolverine. Alone, unevolved those creatures wouldn’t survive much longer, all three species were almost extinct, but as hybrids they were strong. Four of the guardians roamed his clan. They kept other dinosaurs from entering. They kept humans from escaping. Their love of Hell pigs was a boon and often his people roasted the carcasses of the huge beasts.

  As always the hesitant, long faces of his people greeted him. Doom wasn’t the only one to develop relationships with the humans. Why deprive a damned people of humanity for an entire year? The cruelty inflicted, the betrayal, was kept from their victims until they were released into the forest. The Nendersauri waited, and the humans were snatched. It took a month before the slaughter and during that time Doom had no clue what the beasts did with their sacrifices. He presumed they had their own ritual. Bred into Doom was the need to keep his distance from the creatures who almost hunted his kind to death. The tingling of his skin began early morning, informing him it was time to leave the village and prepare for the marks of death. The hybrids would allow him safe passage.

  The upright hybrid dinosaur had developed growing intelligence. Somewhere there was a means to an end but Doom and the other leaders had no idea what they were after with the humans. What could an animal be thinking? And they did think. It was a question to ponder. Later. Doom grinned as he approached a couple. The woman’s face lit with a joyous smile. Doom gave her the boy.

  “Congratulations. You have a son,” Doom said.

  “You’re not my mommy,” the boy said.

  “Yes, I am.” She cuddled him close to her chest; a huge smile split her lips. “Edge, we have a son.”

  The new father pulled Doom aside away from the woman who fussed over the child. “Do what you must to keep my son safe.”

  Doom nodded. The child was safe, until he was full grown. If the quota couldn’t be met, they must use grown villagers. The agony of his clan when that happened was almost too much to bear. Doom’s responsibility slouched his shoulders. The weight of the world dragging him into misery permeated every step he took to the holding place where humans would be kept until their time was up. Touching the stone door warmed it under his hand and the door slid back for him to peer below the earth’s surface. A pit in his guts, Doom surveyed the open, empty confined darkened space. He wasn’t certain if he was happier when it was vacant or full.

  ****

  Clarity’s ass connected with the lush foliage as she skidded down a sodden hill. Huge leafy plants smacked her in the face and chest. Slick massive roots grazed her bare thighs. The almost vertical position eased as she plummeted downhill. Plant life slowed her descent until she came to a stop. Her breathing ragged Clarity sat still, groaning, legs stretched before her, elbows bent, rapidly blinking, waiting for any sign of pain to emanate from the filth that was now her entire being. Aside from small aches and scratches, she was fine. Small bits of vegetation covered her shorts and shirt. Green skid marks on her bare flesh would no doubt bruise. Muck coated her shoes. She leaned to her side to do up a loose shoelace caught and tugging on twigs. On shaky feet, she stood and turned in a tight circle. Nothing looked familiar yet other things did in a disturbing way.

  Clarity stared hard at the vegetation. Not a paleontologist by any means, she loved archeology and was certain the plant life she was seeing was extinct. Nilssonia, Williamsonia, plants from the Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous period slapped her in the face. The air was clear. Void of any pollutants reminding her of home. Ancient and new at the same time. Massive trees with long vines loomed, eerily silent of birds or squirrels. She slapped an insect from her arm.

  The sky overhead rolled with clouds forming odd shapes and sizes. Clarity made out one moon and one sun. The moon was huge even in daylight, a massive round crater-riddled phenomenon, so close in appearance even while the sun was high. She stretched her hand for a moment certain it could be touched. It couldn’t. An illusion.

  She was chilled; her sweat left her damp. The air was warm when she slipped into the sinkhole. Her body shook from her experience. Everywhere she turned, strange images assaulted her. Prehistoric plant life run amok. Odd scents mugged her system. The ground was solid beneath her feet; she knew that too could change. She wrapped her arms over her breasts. Her damp shirt clung as a second skin. She took a tentative step, and her foot collided with her purse. Clarity snapped it up, not bothering with the strap, tucking it under her arm. A sharp whistle caught her attention. There was something peculiar in the tone, foreboding and unhuman. She heard something moving in her direction. A massive b
ehemoth of a tree sporting a hole big enough to crawl into was in her line of vision and Clarity raced to it, huddling inside. The whistling increased.

  Her breath caught and, wide-eyed, Clarity peeked at the creature which came into view not fifteen feet from her hideout. Eight feet in height, standing upright, Clarity had never seen anything like it. An erect light grey-green dinosaur walking on two long legs with huge thighs tapering to five-toed feet. The toes were clawed with white hooks resembling ivory. The beast wore a wrap around its waist. A dinosaur with clothes? When the creature turned, Clarity covered her mouth, her bones shaking. Long arms with five-fingered claws, all ivory in color, were wide as the creature ducked down to sniff where Clarity landed after her harrowing ride downhill.

  The frill of a triceratops wrapped round the back of its bulbous bald head from ear to ear, giving the beast the impression of having no neck. Long florescent veins lit and traveled the length of the semicircle from top to bottom, fine lines of pulsing molten lava. Round rainbow eyes, set on either side of its face gave it a 3D perspective, where the piercing white pupil dilated, then shrunk as its head cocked. A ridged forehead protruded giving the creature a distinct Neanderthal impression. Oblong jaw thrust forward pushing its four dull white fangs past its upper lip. Covering its flattened nose. The dinosaur had a man’s chest with bulbous muscular arms.

  For a second, she swore it grinned showing huge square teeth in a crooked row along the top and bottom. Solid high cheekbones tapered to small flaps where ears might sit. As she stared, the ear flap bent forward then back careening as though concentrating on catching sound. It blinked. Over its reptilian skin were patches of feathery fur down the massive trunk-like upper thighs to the feet. As the creature moved against the mass foliage the fluttering wisps changed color, browns, greens, whites and reds; a chameleon, blending in with every change of position to camouflage its appearance. The same spattering of feather fur coated the shoulders down each arm to the wrist. The creature gazed in her direction. Clarity crept back further into her hideout. Sweat dripped from her temples, her flesh turned icy cold.