Rexrider (First World's End Book 1) Read online

  Other works by Mark C. Angel

  Ebook Short Stories:

  Blood Bank**

  Mortuary Beach*

  Snake Skin Jacket**

  Other works published by ANAMedia International

  Ebook Short Stories:

  A Break in the Trail by Byron Merritt**

  A Place to Heal by Shaheen Schmidt*

  Donya's Spices by Shaheen Schmidt**

  Gods and ghosts by Chris Kemp**

  Finding Anna by Byron Merritt

  Love Potion by Shaheen Schmidt**

  Monte-Ray Gunn by Byron Merritt*

  Night Wounds Time by Chris Kemp**

  Resurrected by Chris Kemp*

  *First published by Thunderbird Publishing in the anthology Monterey Shorts (2003 ISBN 0967684846) and reproduced by permission of the author.

  **First published by FWOMP Publishing in the anthology Monterey Shorts 2 (2005 ISBN 0976009609) and reproduced by permission of the author.

  FIRST WORLD'S END

  (Book I)

  Rexrider

  by

  Mark Angel

  Illustrations by Shaheen Schmidt

  Rexrider: First World's End (Book 1)

  Published by: ANAMedia International, P.O. Box 221594, Carmel, CA 93922

  Text copyright 2011 by Mark Angel

  Illustrations copyright 2011 by Shaheen Schmidt

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in amy form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, wirte to: ANAMedia Int., P.O. Box 221594, Carmel, CA 93922.

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

  Rexrider, Book I of First World's End/ by Mark C. Angel

  Summary: Tamik is a young man living in a pre-industrial civilization that coexists with and has domesticated dinosaurs. His struggle to discover his path in life requires that he choose between his duty to his father and his fathers dinosaur mount Gar-rex, and his own quest for revenge.

  ISBN 978-0-9831313-0-4

  (1. Dinosaur fiction. 2. Action adventure fiction. 3. Young adult fiction.)

  For Adam,

  May you enjoy taking this journey as much as I have, and may it somehow help you find your way on your own adventures.

  With all my love,

  Dad

  Author’s Note:

  Many believe dinosaurs roamed the planet long before humans came into existence. But what if people did live with dinosaurs? Welcome to the Snail Continent and the people who may have lived there. We call it North America. Yet, in ancient times it was very different.

  Our story is set near the end of the age of dinosaurs. To help us transition into this alien setting, I use some words and phrases in unusual ways. For example, to represent a year, the generic term “sidereal annual revolution” or “sar,” is used. A day is referred to as a “turn,” which, as some readers may notice, is shorter than our present day based on the fact that the spin of the earth has slowed since that time. The turn is divided up into “arcs,” “minutes,” and “seconds,” as a circle is divided. At the beginning of each chapter, the Rexian time and date is noted in italics.

  Also, the types of dinosaurs depicted, though in every other way the same as we have come to associate with that time and region, have common Rexian names. The glossary may help where confusion persists.

  Enjoy your journey.

  Introduction:

  Little was known about the Ancients who first settled the Snail Continent. Their origins were a matter of differing theories, but most agreed they initially sought shelter deep within the foliage of the western conifer- and fern-filled forests, for though their new land was habitable, it was no paradise.

  The Snail Continent acquired its name due to its two principal parts. The first, roughly shaped like a snail's head and body, was known as the Western Range, a long array of tall mountains that extended from the north pole to the equator. The other part of the continent—a bulky land mass resembling a snail’s shell—was connected to the Western Range by a desolate land bridge. In contrast to the high Western Range, the “shell” section of the continent had low mountains and vast rolling plains. These plains were home to a variety of indigenous creatures. Some fed upon the plentiful plant life, but in a world where all lived and died in a tightly wound cycle of life, there were those who fed upon others.

  Rexrider

  Part 1

  Observe the stars that drift the blackened maze.

  Observe the beast that feeds on those that graze.

  One displays the cycle’s endless range;

  Another is the harbinger of change.

  --Ann

  1. First Watch

  Stonehaven’s East Barrier wall at low meridian, 09/01/1643—

  “Who comes here?” Tamik asked in what he thought was a loud enough voice.

  There was no reply, only the initial request to gain entry repeated.

  He stepped out of a small stone guard tower and cleared his throat, calling into the darkness with a louder voice, “Who comes here?!”

  The call of a man again drifted up with the fog that blotted out the moonlight and wafted through the unglazed openings of the tower behind him. This was the first solicitation at the gate since dusk, and his tour was already half over.

  Soon a merchant entered the torchlight beneath.

  “Present your arm!” Tamik demanded, still using his full loud voice, although it was no longer necessary.

  The man did not look up again, but yanked the sleeve of his dark robe back and held his right forearm under the torchlight for Tamik to inspect from above. The Junior Guardian released the lock only after he was satisfied that the man below bore no marks of an exile. When he turned the crank the pedestrian gate opened outward. After the man passed through, Tamik released the cog and the counterweighted gate swung closed, clicking locked.

  He returned to the stone bench in the guard tower of the East Barrier and sat there as the chilling fog rolled unabated through the partially opened structure. Turning up the collar of his dark green tunic, Tamik performed a breathing exercise to stay warm, briefly holding the moist and salty sea air inside his lungs before each exhalation. This was his first solo tour on guard duty, and the moon and stars seemed to move more slowly then ever before.

  Finally, a single resonant toll sounded from a heavy bell suspended in a distant bell tower. It indicated that it was precisely low meridian, ringing in the ninth turn of the first moon in the sar 1643. The peal emanated from the Skywatchers Plateau high above the canyon-bound habitat, its echo reverberating throughout the populated gulches and coulees that riddled the Kazak Valley and the canyon habitats that it contained. The hollow sound alerted Tamik to expect his relief. His shift had been uneventful, but he was proud to finally perform this duty without a Senior Guardian’s oversight.

  The fog lifted as suddenly as it had come, and now the sparkle of the stars and the glow of the waxing moon again provided a shadowy view of the high cliffs that rimmed both sides of the Kazak Valley revealing a hint of the lush woodlands above and beyond the canyon habitat.

  Tamik gazed along the walkway that crowned the East Barrier. There was movement in the shadows of the gas torches that lit the way, and the clack of hard-soled shoes crescended against the stones of the narrow walkway
to his right. Someone approached.

  “Who goes there?” Tamik asked, squinting to see.

  “Hail, guardian!” a strange voice replied. “We come looking for sanctuary.”

  A young man about the same age as Tamik, but slightly shorter and even more muscular, strode briskly along the walkway toward the tower in and out of the torchlight. His flowing red hair splayed out behind him, and he was followed by a tall, shabby-looking compatriot, the one with loud shoes. They wore simple clothing bereft of marks that might identify them as affiliates of any trade or order.

  The stranger’s request perplexed Tamik. They were asking to pass in for sanctuary, but how could they have gotten up to the walkway from outside the wall if they had not already been inside the citadel?

  “Present your arms then and prove you are not prohibited,” Tamik said, defaulting to the standard demand of any passers-by. He expected them to bare their right forearms for inspection. If they were outcasts, they would reveal a black diamond-shaped brand, otherwise they would be welcome. But before he could look at their arms, the fast-approaching redhead was upon Tamik. He cuffed the Junior Guardian's shoulder, knocking him off balance, and before the Tamik could protest, the man tackled him. Tamik disentangled himself from the redhead and leaped back to his feet, setting his back against the guard tower. He assumed a defensive posture, feet spread in a sturdy stance and hands in front of his chest. The ruffians now stood between him and the small alarm bell, which could bring other guardians to his aid.

  The strapping young man charged Tamik again, who sidestepped, grabbed the aggressor by an arm and thrust him against the tower wall. He could hear the second man approaching from behind him, so he spun around to face him. A punch meant for Tamik’s chin was absorbed by the wall as the young guardian dodged the strike. He elbowed the tall man in the ribs while lurching for the alarm bell.

  The redhead had recovered, and now shouldered Tamik away from the bell with a grunt. The guardian stumbled back, his head smacked against a fenestration in the tower even as he blocked a kick to his gut with his raised knee. He fought the fog of disorientation that threatened to cloud his mind, and managed to extricate himself from the half-seen hands that continued to clutch at him in the dark. He scrambled away but the ruffians again pursued, and the high parapet of the barrier wall hemmed him in from behind as they closed in.

  When the taller man flung his fist again, Tamik grabbed the incoming arm and twisted it, and then turned the man and pushed him into the redhead’s renewed attack, but the guardian knew he could not keep this up much longer. He might have to use his weapon, but he hesitated to draw it against an unarmed man, but against two unarmed men, he might be justified. Either way, he had to get to the alarm bell to summon help or someone might end up getting seriously hurt, and Tamik was determined that he would not be that someone. He crouched and prepared to fight his way back through to the tower one last time before resorting to his weapon. Then suddenly the two assailants backed away.

  “You fight pretty good for a Rexrider,” the redhead offered, pushing back his long, fiery mane.

  Tamik was about to spit out a response when he noticed a man who looked to be slightly older than the others had made a silent approach from behind. He wore a sword exposed from beneath his overcloak, but no other outward distinctions, and he gave no indication that he was there to assist the guardian, but instead nodded acknowledgements to the assailants. Tamik gripped the hilt of his weapon and adjusted his position to cover himself from both sides now.

  “How come you didn’t reach for that rusty sword of yours before now?” asked the taller man with the wooden shoes. “Afraid to use it in a real fight?”

  The back of Tamik’s head throbbed from its previous impact with the fenestration. He blocked out the pain. “When I do draw it, you will see that it is far from rusty,” he replied sharply. “But you were unarmed. Why should I use lethal force on the likes of you?”

  Crooked smiles crossed the faces of the ruffians.

  Tamik backed toward his tower and the alarm bell as he continued his verbal rebuttal, if only to take his mind off his aching skull. He pointed his chin to the swordsman. “But if your friend here cares to draw his weapon, he will find mine at the ready.”

  Tamik unseated his sword in its scabbard, prepared to draw, edging even closer to the bell.

  The swordsman nodded. “Your answer was a wise one—indeed you might have been paying for the rest of your life had you used your sword against an unarmed man without just cause—but a two-on-one attack at the guard post may have mitigated your punishment.”

  The conciliatory tone and manner of the swordsman put Tamik somewhat at ease. He began to sense that this was all a trial of sorts, but as the swordsman joined the others he remained focused; cautious.

  The swordsman spoke again. “You can go home now. I am here to relieve you.” The man slipped off his cloak, revealing a full Senior Guardian’s uniform with green tunic and gold trimmed sash.

  “Senior,” Tamik nodded and replied with stern formality. It was a man he did not recognize, so he remained slightly suspicious.

  “It’s hard to sense the dark time lessening while still so close to the change of sar,” the Senior Guardian said in a less formal manner

  Tamik recognized the comment as the most current pass-phrase Stonehaven Guardians were using to confirm their identity. He reseated his sword and saluted the man as a superior, placing his right fist in front of his forehead and covering it with his left palm while bowing his head slightly. Then he gave the appropriate answer. “But soon you’ll begin to notice that the dark duty-tours will not feel quite so long.”

  Then the man continued with a personal message. “Get some sleep. And Sortan asked me to remind you not to be late for the morrow’s ceremony.”

  Tamik needed nothing more to be completely reassured the man had truly come to relieve him.

  “Thank you for the message.” Tamik saluted crisply once again in parting, while eyeing with mistrust the two ruffians who now remained silent. Then he turned and walked westward along the top of the barrier. His soft shoes padded against the stone as he made his way home. Before long he came to a flight of steps that led down to the door of a dwelling he shared with his father, Melok, a Primary Rexrider. The residence was built into the upper level of the two-story barrier wall and roofed by the stone walkway up the stairs. He entered the place quietly and went straight to his own chamber, stripping rapidly before climbing between the covers of a down-filled bed.

  ***

  In the moments before the sun’s creeping rays drove the stars from their fading dome of darkness, a purple haze filled the sky. The chirr of insects and the piping of beasts meandering about the inner paddock of the protectorate, filled the pre-dawn stillness. It was during this violet time that Melok’s thoughts often turned to his departed spouse, Jalal. Mystery whispered her name, calling her back soon after she gave the rexrider a son to ride his prized beast, Gar-rex. Now Melok lay awake, embracing the long, soft pillow the couple had once shared.

  Melok had been dreaming about Jalal. She had been lecturing their son Tamik on how important it was to properly tighten saddle tethers. The older rexrider's thoughts lingered on the dream as his mind transformed the subject. If only she had lived to know their boy.

  “Jalal,” he said, speaking into the pillow. “Tamik resists his rexrider duties more adamantly with each slide of the moon. It’s been several seasons since he last hunted with us.” He paused as if waiting for her reply, but she remained as silent as she had been for the past 21 sars. Mystery might have known what she was thinking, but Melok could only imagine. He squeezed his eyes shut to preserve her image from his dream.

  “Tsi’gal and I have discussed the situation,” he continued. “He says Tamik's ready to advance as a guardian. I say, ‘It’s about time.’ I think you would approve of our plan.”

  Melok peeled himself out from between his sheets and placed his bare feet on the heavy t
imbers of the floor, smoothed and blackened by 40 cycles of rexrider footfalls. The timbers certainly would remember the original rexriders, when Kazak, the first man to domesticate a rex, founded Stonehaven. Protected by his thunderrex, Fen, he and his people built these barrier structures to house themselves and shelter their new habitat from the beasts of the wilderness. That was when the seeds of the Civilization of Rex were first sewn. The tightly-fitted stones in the walls and arched roof might remember, too.

  Dawn air drifted through his open window from the inner paddock of the Kazak Valley. Melok’s hunter’s sense of smell quickly categorized the odors it carried: the unique stench of giant flock-birds, the sweet aroma of flowering fruit trees, and the earthy scent of sloggerbeasts contrasting with the musk of domeheads. Overlaying it all was the somewhat sour smell of the Stonehaven Pride of prairie rexes.

  The rexrider stirred to his feet. Through the same open window he could see a portion of the towering perimeter wall in the distance. It was built long after the inner barriers, to further extend the realm of Stonehaven by creating an expansive inner paddock. The stupendous edifice rose more than three stories above the valley floor, and stretched six lengths between the cliffs of both the southern and northern canyon faces of the Kazak Valley, incorporating the most prominent natural rock formation that existed along its route. It was a familiar view to rexriders, who were traditionally quartered in the East Barrier from which they could better monitor their beasts in the paddock.

  Some areas of the protected valley floor were further walled off and farmed. Most of the area, however, was designated as grazing land for the thousands of domestic herbivores in residence. The vigilance of the rexriders, who saw to it that their predatory beasts hunted regularly in the wilderness, allowed the pride of domesticated prairie rexes to live among the grazing animals in relative harmony.