This document was obtained under the 2004 Legacy-Hand Document Sharing Agreement
Name: Nigerian lava cat
Latin Name: Ignafelid nigerius
Distribution: fossil records show emergence in West Africa, has since spread to a number of active volcanos across northern Africa
Sentient: No
Habitat: Containing every Nigerian lava cat is impractical and of questionable ethics, and due to their habitat, they are not in immediate danger of being exterminated or imprisoned. However, sometimes Nigerian lava cats will become injured or displaced and be unable to return to the wild. These individuals are to be housed in Biodome-IV, which closely mimics (estimated 1% deviation) the environment of the area immediately around and in the lava pool at Erta Ale, Ethiopia.
Husbandry: Thankfully, Nigerian lava cats require little in the way of specialized care; their immune systems are nearly identical to that of a normal cat’s, and their ability to quickly regenerate results not only in wounds healing exceptionally quickly but also in disease being uncommon. However, monthly checkups are still required, as Nigerian lava cats must detach large pieces of their epidermis in order to grow. Complications resulting from this are fairly common, and in the wild Nigerian lava cats are known to die from fracturing of the epidermis. Fracturing of the epidermis can be treated was easily with heat resistant rubber cement. Tranqs will be necessary for operation, as Nigerian lava cats are understandably sensitive about having anyone near them when their epidermis is damaged.
Each Nigerian lava cat should be removed once a month and allowed to normalize their body temperature. Khufu’s (he’s the one with the three nicks in the left ear) heat-shunting organs are defective; either hose him off with cold water or leave him in the ice box for a few hours. To supplement their diet, each lava cat should be given three kilograms of meat every two months.
Morphology: Nigerian lava cats are a feliform elemental species. The interior bodily structure is typical, with the exception of atypically fast cellular regeneration. Nigerian lava cats, however, are covered in an extremely flexible obsidian-like substance capable of withstanding extreme heat (in excess of several thousand degrees Celsius), and extreme force (in excess of 4000 Newtons). Regularly spaced along a Nigerian lava cat’s body are small organs that absorb heat and large organs responsible for shunting heat from the lava cat’s body.
The exact composition of the epidermis is unknown. Analysis indicates that it is virtually identical to obsidian in chemical composition and molecular structure, but obsidian is known for not being durable and fracturing easily, and the epidermis of Nigerian lava cats is extremely durable and doesn’t fracture at all. While magical altering of the obsidian remains a possibility, magical sensors reveal nothing magical about the epidermis or its formation, rendering some sort of natural molecular restructuring the most likely possibility. The manner in which the epidermis is produced is also unknown, though lava cats have been observed consuming small amounts of lava corresponding to the amount of new epidermis being produced, so they aren’t breaking the Law of Conservation of Mass.
Evolutionary History: The species is believe to have diverged from ‘normal’ felines at the start of the Piacenzian period (about 3.6 million years ago, for those unfamiliar with our palaeontological divisions), though the exceptionally quick evolution raises the question of whether their evolution was entirely self-directed or whether another organism assisted in modifying them. In any event, time travel and fossil records clearly show that the species started as a cat merely unusually tolerant of heat and developed the unique adaptations to its environment approximately half-way through the time the species has existed.
Records seem to show a subspecies of the lava cat briefly existing in Egypt during the Old Kingdom. This subspecies had a significantly slower metabolism and gained energy by basking in the sun for long periods with only part of their body exposed. In any event, the subspecies appears to have been extinct by the time of the Hysko invasion, as Hysko records at the time make no mention of it while making mention of various other anomalous species present in Ancient Egypt during the time period.
The closest living relatives of the lava cats are the members of the Panthera genus, with the species bearing the closest DNA match is Panthera leo, with a 98% match. It is possible that lions and lava cats can interbreed, but in any event it’s unknown to happen.
Diet: Nigerian lava cats require no food, though they have a functioning digestive and excretory system (as discovered when a Hawaiian lavaskipper was introduced into Biodome-IV in an attempt to save space). Rather, Nigerian lava absorb ambient heat and converts the temperature differential into electrical energy by means of a biological thermocouple. The electrical energy is then converted into chemical energy. When the body of a Nigerian lava cat reaches a temperature so that generating electricity by temperature difference becomes no longer practical, the cat will move to a cooler location where heat shunting organs will rapidly lower the cat’s body temperature. The cat will then return to the volcano.
As evident from the Lavaskipper Incident, not consuming food is due to environmental factors rather than behavioral ones, and Nigerian lava cats can and will kill things and eat them to supplement their diet if given the chance. They appear to enjoy their meat cooked rare, and several have developed a fondness for steak.
Social Behavior: Nigerian lava cats live in prides of anywhere from fifteen to twenty individuals, with a social structure similar to that of lions. When the young disperse, they will move to another volcano, or an area sufficiently distant. Because of habitat limitations, the majority of young cannot find a new volcano and must coexist with another pride, be absorbed into that pride, or drive the dominant male out. Females typically choose one of the first two options, while males usually choose the last, though they are known to join other prides as nonbreeders.
Each pride is led by a single dominant male, who is also the only one allowed to breed, and the dominant male will kill any kits that are not his direct offspring (Legacy’s pride is given hormone disrupters to prevent this). The dominant male in turn is mated to several dominant female with whom he produces offspring. The other males and females in the group are either outsiders accepted into the pride (usually treated with some degree of hostility anyway) or adult females that have no dispersed. In very rare cases, Nigerian lava cats will be born male but not sexually mature; these individuals stay with the pride they were born into and guard kits.
Courting is markedly different than lion courting. Before courting a female, a male lava cat will make a deep dive into the volcano and pry off rock from deep down. The male will then use nearby volcanic rock to construct a roughly circular bower, and will then place the volcanic rock in the center. Females will investigate each volcanic rock and bower, and are believed to be able to sense how far down the rock was retrieved and base mate selection on that. The mate of the dominant female will then become the dominant male. Exactly how this behavior originated, given the classic leonine social structure, is unknown.
Non-Social Behavior:
Intelligence: The intelligence and sapience of Nigerian lava cats remains at question. While the species certainly has displayed a certain level of cunning one usually only finds in confirmed sapients, this could very well be an evolutionary adaptation required due to the species’ environment. Universal translation devices have also failed at communications, casting further doubt on the possibility of full sapience.
May 10, 2004:
I'm outside the Anasazi ruins at Chilchinbito, where I'm told the skinwalkers dwell. The Navajo speak only of them in whispers, but I found an old woman who was willing to tell me just a bit about them, so I am prepared, both for the physical challenges and the usual stresses on my sanity. Naturally, their appearance is horrifying (no facial features) and they would kill me as soon as look at me. They can also run as fast as a car and shapeshift. Just once, I would like to meet something beautiful that tries to kill me, but I suspect that's asking far too much. In any event, I will be going through a third story window that I didn't detect any signs of activity from.
My research on cryptid sightings in the area suggests that the skinwalkers are a seperate offshoot of humanity, most likely (in my opinion) warped from the foul variety of magic they use. They are about the size of a child, but whithered and pale. Their eyes are deep red and sunken, the mouth is a gaping hole that never closes, and the ears are simple holes in the side of the head. Their forelimbs are approximately twice as long as they would normally be and are correspondingly limber, allowing skinwalkers to manuever easily in the ruins. The skeletal structure of the forelimbs appears to be similar to that of a gibbon's, with the important difference of one extra joint.
Since I expect hostility, I am carrying a standard revolver with the bullets dipped in white ash. I would prefer more technologically advanced weaponry but can't afford the chance that the skinwalkers would loot it from my dead body.
Later:
Currently in room with Anasazi artifacts. Very little time to write. Grabbing as many things that could tell me about fall of civilization as possible.
May 13, 2004:
They were definitely hostile. As soon as I had finished bagging the last tablet, they came running in, leaping from floor to wall to ceiling like evil humanoid frogs. No idea how they did it, either. The bodies of skinwalkers I've examined show no adaptations that could be used to such an effect. Magic of some sort, I suppose.
I shot two dead and wounded another in the chest. After that, they ran away as quickly as possible. Thought that was the end of it, but (of course) it wasn't. A few minutes later, while I was gathering blood for DNA testing, one- just one- approached. I bade it not to enter the room, for I was armed with bullets dipped in white ash. "Thank you," was the only thing it said- in Navajo, of course, but when you're as old and well-traveled as I am, you learn more than a few languages.
The voice still gives me nightmares, as does the mental blast that came after. I had known that these… things… took the shape of children, but I did not know what both the voice the blast revealed to me- that they were children, children that by all rights should be at rest. But they can't rest. They were killed by witches, and so their spirits became witches too. Their suffering, I think, is the worst I have ever seen, for they do not enjoy what they do, but they are driven by ancient spells and curses to inflict pain, horror, and suffering on others anyway.
It was straining at the end of its story, trying by an act of millennia old willpower not to tear me to quivering bits. I saw the plea in its eyes, begging me to put it out of its misery.
So I did. I could have sworn it smiled and laughed as I shot it.
I'm tired now. I think I'll go to bed.
— Peristrixalo, member of the Hand
Librarian Notes: The DNA sample Peri brought back was indeed mutant human. Tests demonstrated that it apparently exists both in our plane and another, and so requires ritualistic objects to be damaged. This applies to the dead bodies as well.
Translation of the tablets is currently in progress, but what we have deciphered so far suggests that skinwalkers began to multiple exponentially until the Anasazi performed a ritual that apparently destroyed most of the skinwalkers and partially cut them off from reality, but at the cost of the Anasazi civilization.
Peri returned to the location several weeks later and found it abandoned. The dead skinwalker bodies were gone, as was any sign of a struggle. Analysis of the site indicates a recent spatial disturbance.
Librarian's Note: Originally, attached documents were attached to the copy of Peri's journal with a paper clip, and drawings were attached with Scotch tape. When the files were converted to digital format, they were changed to the current format.
September 17, 2011:
Apparently I have been volunteered to be part of some expedition. I don't have all the details yet, but they should be coming in later. While the job isn't one of my favorites- I prefer to work alone- I should have the ability to wander off by myself enough so that I won't end up with a stress hormone surge.
Later:
You have got to be bloody kidding me.
September 18, 2011:
A sub. I have been volunteered to dive down thousands of feet in a cramped, dark, boring submarine with four other people. A tiny, tiny submarine. My attempts to squirm out of the job have ended in total failure. Apparently I'm the best person for the job, something which I take it means that everybody else with the relevant field of knowledge (the Ways) is unavailable for some reason. Or they passed it up. Or they drew straws for us. Quite possibly the latter.
Now, please excuse me, because I am going to go tear something to tiny bits.
September 20, 2011:
My other four crewmates are a human female marine biologist who was apparently exposed to something that made her develop nictating membranes in her eyes, an octopus mage, a male human pilot, and a female human ecologist specializing in deep-sea environments.
It's my job to record information and monitor the spatial sensory array. While not terribly interesting, it will provide me with an excuse to snap at anyone who bothers me.
0 Meters:
Launch proceeding on schedule. We've been provided with the background information on where we're going.
The first dive in this area was performed by William Beebe in 1930. While the details behind the dive are public knowledge, we know things that the rest of the public does not; mainly the Ways. Current opinion is that Beebe accidently found one, which would go a long way to explaining why he found fifteen foot fish at depths that usually can only support individuals a tenth of that size.
Since then, no one has attempted diving in the same place again, though the non-aware scientific community spent a good deal of time trying to explain Beebe's findings. Some of their explanations might be right; they usually are; but I know enough about Beebe to know that he's reliable enough that the area is worth checking out.
The ship isn't as bad as I thought. For one thing, it's roomier- an advantage, I suppose, of having both magic and high technology on your side. And the Beetle is a beautiful ship- all glossy brass on the outside with the front magically and technologically renforced glass for the cockpit. Power is provided by some sort of star thing that the mage has behind twenty different levels of protection strong enough to keep it more or less intact even if a nuke was dropped on it. That power is going to life support, a carbon dioxide to oxygen converter, spotlights, laser weapons, and a dimensional rift that we might be able to use to escape in an emergency. That, or it'll scatter us across the entire local cluster.
100 Meters: Sea life normal. Beetle was investigated briefly by a dolphin, which then swam off to join the rest of his pod. Attempts at communication proved fruitless, no doubt due to that incident a few years back with the hijacked oil tanker. Still, I can get an interview later in exchange for fish. At about 40 meters an oarfish swam by. Favorite species, that. Very convienent for blaming sea serpent sightings on (it and beer, that is), and thy're beautiful. At 80 meters a spotted eagle ray swam by. Don't often see one of those.
Species observed include unidentified Tursiops species, Aetobatus narinari, Prionace glauca, Regalecus glesne, and Mola mola. Conditions typical for area and depth. Sonar indicates that the topography of the ocean floor is changing rapidly, lending a great deal of credence to the 'Beebe found a Way' school of thought. In under five minutes the topography changed from an undersea mountain higher than Everest to a perfectly flat surface covered in formations similar to craters.
200 Meters: Light is rapidly fading. The octopus, whose name is Tristan, does an excellent job of playing poker, and he won every single game. It helps, I suppose, that the expression of cephalopods is almost always inscrutable. Hell of a poker face. Because he doesn't have one. A face, that is.
Temperature began to drop dramatically at about 180 meters, falling seven degrees Celsius in twenty-seven seconds and then stablizing. Heating units had to be activated to keep me from freezing. Tristan is having to spend significantly longer in his tank. Spotlights activated.
Sea life normal types, though at about 194 meters we ran into a bunch of what appeared to be firefly squid. Due to the extreme distribution anomaly, we used the vacuum tube to capture a few for analysis. Besides, they'll make a nice addition to the Library's aquarium. Species identified are [insert species names here].
Spatial anomaly sensors indicate that we started along the Way at 190 meters. My projections based on the spatial warping and wormhole spin suggest that we'll have to travel for another few hundred meters before we exit. In the mean time, the other sensors have recorded some very interesting phenomena- sudden, brilliant flashes of light in the darkness of all colors, magnetic vortexes of significant strength, a low rumbling sound that the computers tentatively identified as jagged rocks scraping across each other, and decidedly creepy ethereal singing. Since all that is hardly anything new when navigating the Ways while underwater, I'm not too worried.
300 Meters: Bioluminescent clouds of algae started surrounding the Beetle at 275 meters and continued to do so for five minutes. I don't know what species they are, but I do know that on natural Earth there are no algae that emit purple, leaf green, red, or orange light. The vacuum tube has been used to gather samples of each color. The light being emitted is bright enough that if we could find some way to grow the algae on a large scale we wouldn't need any more lightbulbs, though I personally am in favor of using lightbulbs to house the algae. Interestingly, the algae doesn't seem to flash in response to stimulus, but is constantly glowing.
400 Meters: We're beginning to exit the Way. The sounds have almost stopped, with the only remaining sound coming from the outside being a constant clicking sound. It's so loud that only a very large creature or structure could be making it. And whatever it is, I don't want to meet it.
The sound is beginning to drive us all crazy. It's like a metronome, never stopping, never wavering, never changing. In aucostic properties, it is similar to that of a pistol shrimp.
Nothing is alive here. The water is uniformly dark, with barely a shred of organic matter providing anything for the lights to reflect off of- even marine snow is nearly absent.
500 Meters: Dr. Barlow (woman with the nictating membranes) saw them first.
Beebe was right. The abyssal rainbow gar, Bathysphaera intacta, the five-lined constellation fish, the pallid sailfin, the thre-starred anglerfish- they all exist. Every last one of them.
Actually, we only found the five-lined constellation fish so far, but I hasten to point out that the others were significantly lower. But if Beebe was right about it, we can be more confident he was right about the others.
The fish itself is exactly as Beebe described it: rounded, five lines of purple and yellow photophores on the sides (alternating, and I counted six photophores to a line), large eyes, and small pectoral fins. And the glass was not misted, disproving Carl Hubbs explanation! They were not jellyfish!
A school (ten) of them approached us at 490 meters, rapidly flashing their photophores in what, from the alterations in the patterns of flashing whenever the school changed behavior or reacted to a new stimuli, was a form of communication. Presumably it could also be used to make them seem larger; if they lined up and started flashing they'd be quite large.
Naturally, we took a specimen. It's in Habitat A-4.
600 Meters: I should have realized it before. We all should have realized it before. The reason Beebe saw such large creatures- the typical stratification for ocean biomass is reversed here! Our sensors are detecting massive upwellings carrying thousands of tons of organic particulate and metal ion-laden water. Titanium, tungsten, copper, cobalt, iron, tin, nickel- the water here is so hard that I doubt even the toughest organisms on Earth that aren’t extremophiles could survive in it. This makes it highly interesting that we are detecting whale song corresponding to humpback whales, despite the pitch being significantly higher than it should be.
The sensors also are noting an increase in brightness as we descend. I speculate that there is some source of light at the bottom, possibly with enough energy and the correct wavelengths to allow photosynthesis. There could very well be a coral reef down there, or a kelp forest. Furthermore, as we descend we can expect to see larger and larger creatures, and greater and greater concentrations- which is probably why for the last hundred meters we’ve been seeing increasing numbers of five-lined constellation fish. Just a few meters ago we saw a school numbering, by my estimate, twenty to twenty-five. The spotlights revealed them hunting something rather shrimp-like, but it had radial symmetry. Each column of legs, of which there were eight, beat up and down like cilia along a teardrop shaped body covered in armor plates. Light flashed near it, leading Barlowe to conclude that it might be related to a species of copepod with bioluminescent ‘depth charges’. I estimate it to be a few centimeters long. If we see another one, we’ll collect a specimen.
The lights produced by algae have returned. The algae inside the tanks seemed to be dimming, so we had to pump in fresh seawater. That brightened them up, leading to the logical conclusion that the algae doesn’t actually photosynthesize but instead takes nutrients from the water. Not actually unknown for plants, Indian pipe is hardly photosynthetic, and quite a few plants are know act as parasites of other plants. This could lead to problems with farming the algae, but we should be able to isolate what it needs and produce the requisite environment. Maybe we could send some of the stuff over to Legacy for them to fiddle around with in exchange for a propagation set-up; seems like something they’d enjoy. You know, it might not even be algae; it could just as easily be some sort of protist. I’ll have to have it tested.
700 Meters:
800 Meters:
900 Meters:
1000 Meters
 |
| A specimen of Icthygigantia abyssus, drawn by Peri. |
Scientific Name: Icthygigantia abyssus [Note: Written in the margin in black ink were ten discarded Latin names, the more colorful of which include: Fishus horrifyingus, Icthydemon gigantia, Pleasus tellmeitisgonus, and Deepus horrus]
Description: The only observed specimen is one hundred meters long (yeah, you read that right; go pick your jaw off the table), and almost as deep (counting the long, frilled fins). A significant amount of that length is neck; Dr. Borence put it at at least fifteen meters long. Mouth is somewhat bullet-shaped and filled with great big teeth. Due to reluctance on the part of all parties inside the Beetle to approach such a creature, we were tragically unable to get a more complete and thorough examination, though we were close enough long enough for me to make a sketch of the creature. I included the submarine for size comparison.
Physiology: We did manage to get a blurry X-ray confirming it has a skeleton. Best as we all can tell, the bones are extremely dense in order to hold up to the pressure. They're quite possibly as dense and as strong as the Beetle's hull, raising the question of whether it is a naturally magical creature.
Each bioluminescent organ appears to contain a smaller, separate organism that lives in a symbiotic relationship with Icthygigantia abyssus. From the silhouette each organism cast on the outer walls of the bioluminescent organs, it seems to be serpentine in form, with one end of the body clubbed- judging from the movement, the clubbed end is probably the head.
Ecology: Either it's carrying a nuclear reactor in that body or it's a predator- probably the latter, judging from the teeth. Probably feeds upon and is fed upon by those giant whales that we saw near the seafloor, as well as some of the larger organisms we saw. The massive deep-sea vents should provide enough nutrients into the ecosystem to support such large predators. Since it's about one thousand meters down, it's definitely close enough to the seafloor for it to have the crabs we saw be a staple food source.
Behavior: It appears to be solitary, something I think we should all be grateful for. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be too territorial, as we only noticed it when we were relatively closer by, and it did not eat us. Further study is probably warranted, though I suggest that we use probes, because I would sooner visit Hell again than get close to that thing.
Judging from the specimen we saw attacking the giant crab, I. abyssus utilizes a resonance chamber in its throat to create a 'sonic blast' similar to that of a pistol shrimp's claw snapping (Naturally, it is much more powerful, and I advise that future specimens be approached both with extreme caution and sonic dampers). Besides shredding prey, if the sounds we heard early in the dive were any indication, it also uses the 'blast' for communication purposes, and quite possibly sonar in a manner similar to that of a dolphin.
Based on the brain size, I. abyssus could very well be sentient and therefore of diplomatic interest. However, any such attempt should be done with great caution and preferably from several kilometers away. First contact is always dangerous, especially when the other side is over fifty times larger. Since the language of I. abyssus is in all probability non-standard, first contact would be default have a high likelihood of miscommunication and subsequent devourment or destruction of the method used to communicate.
Analysis: Look, I don’t like to kill things, but the fact is that this fish is gigantic, and it is tiny compared to that huge sperm whale we saw and the whatever. These things can eat humpback whales like candy, and I think it’s safe to say that magic and technology would both be of minimal effect, given that they are capable of withstanding extreme pressures and presumably have an epidermis with thickness in proportion to their size. Likewise, it would take a significant amount of damage to slow them down or kill them, and our current magical resources, while capable in theory of exiling or destroying most dangers, would be severely taxed by a rogue specimen. The different species all have one flaw, however, and that is that they have big mouths. I propose that should a specimen find its way to the surface and for whatever reason must be killed, it should be done so by a clean nuke fired straight into the stomach. The resulting shockwave should tear the creature apart but mostly contain the heat, pressure, and brief radiation spike.
The bioluminescent organs of the creature are also interesting, as are the symbiotes that apparently are responsible for such brightness. It is my opinion that the organs and the creatures present a resource should we obtain a DNA specimen we can reverse-engineer such organs and creatures from. In the past, experiments with organic lighting have failed due to the energy required for organs large enough to serve as light sources for anyone who doesn’t have good night vision (which it is true many of our members, including me, have). However, the presence of large and numerous bioluminescent organs on I. abyssus, which, of course, lives in deep water without a steady supply of food, suggests a mechanism to decrease energy costs.
And I Was Present at the Death of a God… And His Rebirth
September 10, 1936- Sydney: Lovely country, Australia. Lovely people, lovely weather, lovely wildlife. Lovely gods, too. Live as long as I have and you meet a few gods. Oh, it’s not as big a deal as you might think- they’re literally everywhere, and lots of people meet them without even realizing it- but in most places they sure act like it is. Met Queztacoatl once. Guy’s religion is nearly dead, the main thing he’s the archetype of is kept alive only by archaeologists, and he still expects a heart to be sacrificed to him. Naturally, I wasn’t going to do that, so I fulfilled the letter by sacrificing the metaphorical heart with a truly miserable poem.
But I digress. Point is, Australia’s gods are as laid back as any, and I’ve been friends with some. Walmajarri, for example. God of the thylacines, also known as the Tasmanian tigers. I hadn’t known why he’d summoned me, and I’d visited him a few months ago. Usually we only met two years or so. Calling me back this early was unprecedented, especially when I was off in the Soviet Union smuggling out a few parahumans. At least, I wasn’t sure until I received the paper with my tea, flipped it open, and read that the last thylacine was dead as of the seventh.
Despite the name, gods can die. A better name for them might be archetype manifestations, but it’s too bloody long. Gods die when everything they stood for vanishes. Gods are tied both to the culture that venerated them (if one did- if one didn’t they’re much less powerful without the link to the ideals of a human culture with a massive impact) and to what they were the archetype of. Walmajarri would die without any thylacines left. At least, he probably would. I’ve heard of a few gods who survived after everything they stood for vanished, despite being reduced to a voice on the wind or a figure in the corner of the eye. Usually it was because what they stood for captured the imagination, and if it happened after they died, they’d start to return.
“You know, I met that one once. Liked her quite a bit,” I said, knowing that Walmajarri was next to me. “This mean what I think it does, Jarri?”
“Prob’ly so.” He spoke in a rather resigned voice. “Few still running around, maybe.” I put down the newspaper and turned towards him. He resembled an Australian aboriginal, which was enough to get him shot around most places. He was a god, though, and that came with certain advantages, such as making himself nearly impossible to notice. Good thing, too, because normally Jarri had a feral, predatory glint in his eye, claws, long canines, and a build similar to the thylacine’s. This time, though, he looked very human. Jarri never looked human. It simply wasn’t an option for a feral god.
“What,” I asked cautiously, “was the last thing the Rainbow Serpent said to us before-”
“We never met him. He’s still stuck under Uluru.” He gestured towards himself. “This is going to be normal from now on. I can’t even shapeshift anymore.” I recoiled in horror. Shapeshifting was necessary for the sanity of a feral god. Jarri’s mental stability was about to take a plunge for the worst. I knew the symptoms, and so did he. Irritableness first, followed by total loss of instincts and feral edge. Then the god lost all initiative, and became delusional, seeing things that weren’t there that almost always were visions of past glory. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been hanging on by my claws for a long time now, traveling the continent and trying to preserve my species by sticking a few of them on the mainland. It doesn’t work, Peri. The Europeans have nearly killed me, and I think they’ve just about finished the job.” His eyes swam out of focus, then swam back into it. “I’ve seen quite a few of my fellows disappear. Seems I’m next.” I adjusted my bush hat.
“Doesn’t have to be like that. You know that.” I was thinking of the bird. The Dodo.
“Dodo was an unusual case,” he said flatly. “Everybody remembers the dodo as an emblem, and so he gets to hang around Mauritius and taunt the Dutch. No one’s going to remember me, Peri, at least not for long. They never do. And if they do it will be as vermin, something to be eliminated for their mythical predator-free utopia.” He took a drink from a beer that hadn’t been near him before. Like I said, there are some advantages to being a god. “I wanted you to be with me when I go. I know you were busy in the Soviet Union, but to a certain extent I need you. When a god dies, there are things that need to be taken care of.” Australian gods might be more laid back than most, but they did have their limits. I could refuse, but Jarri would be incredibly offended, and I didn’t know how important the ‘things that need to be taken care of’ were.
“Can’t say no to my oldest friend,” I said, sipping the herbal.
September 11, 1936: I’ve hiked through the Outback countless times. Whenever I’d meet up with Jarri the two of us would inevitably end up on walkabout. I’ve always enjoyed those times. As One Who Walks, I don’t become tired from walking, ever. Nor do I become thirsty, or hungry while walking, and I don’t suffer from the environmental conditions. I’m ageless, too, even when I’m not walking. Walking’s in my blood, and hiking is my life.
This time was different. The red sands shifted in the breeze, and when they flew away from an area, it seemed like they would expose skeletons of the gods who had died. They wouldn’t, of course. That just wasn’t how gods died: They never left a body. You could kill a god without them being dead permanently, of course. They reformed elsewhere, near what they represented. I didn’t know if Jarri would have that benefit. Probably not. I wasn’t going to ask.
Wildlife was absent. Not even a soaring bird broke the monotony. I recognized the signs- emotional change for the negative, lack of wildlife, unusual weather conditions, weird [a note penciled in later says ‘in this case, ethnoambient, Australian’] music playing in the back of my mind- from my thousands of trips through the Ways. But we couldn’t be entering a Way; gods simply couldn’t enter them. Gods were bound to the land. They could send something which they represented through a Way and experience what that saw through telepathy, they could make use of spatial anomalies, but they couldn’t leave our dimension. On the other hand, here was Jarri walking in front of me, leading the way as he always did, and to all appearances he was leading me through a Way.
“There are other places, Peristrixalo, than the other worlds you walk through. We are going to a Dream Place. It is different,” Jarri said when I asked him, and refused to say any more. He’s not usually so secretive.
That night we camped near a pile of red sandstone rocks inhabited by venomous snakes and great big lizards. Jarri instinctively curled up beside me when I lay down, and I, out of habit, stroked his back. It was different, since no longer could he become a thylacine. But when one lives as long as we do, one starts to find it hard to change some habits, and I wasn’t going to try to change this one. It was a memory of better days.
Jarri only stayed next to me for a while. Like the thylacine, he’s nocturnal, though capable of daytime activity. And while he might not be running free in thylacine form anymore, the heart and soul can be feral too.
September 12, 1936: Uluru is a beautiful sight. The Europeans call it Ayers Rock, but the true masters of this land call it Uluru, and if they wished they could create a storm that would cleanse Australia of the Europeans for a generation or more.
We’re going to Uluru, I’m nearly sure of it. The Aboriginal caretakers of the site are a dead giveaway that there’s something paranatural about the place. Don’t know exactly what it is. Something connected to the Dreaming, yes, but what and how?
Walmajarri had his old feral glint in his eye today. He even was quivering with excitement when prey came near him. It’s good to see that he is partly wild again, even if he isn’t as feral as he used to be. Personally, I still hold out hope that he’ll survive. Maybe the thylacine will capture the public imagination in such a way that Walmajarri survives. But Jarri doesn’t think so. Understandable; he bears no love for the Europeans and automatically thinks badly of them- something I can hardly blame him for. I’ve seen them committ horrific acts too. But I see a distant possibility for hope. They just need to be directed, and that’s what I’m doing: directing them to different paths.
I can feel my mind changing. Walmajarri’s always had that effect on me, and I’ve always enjoyed the effect: a kind of feral alertness and edge like his own, a kind of instinctual undercurrent. But while Jarri’s is thylacine, mine is not. My species has legends that we are descended from cats, even though we don’t look like them in the least. And when I’m with Jarri, sometimes I wonder if they are true.
The two of us saw a goanna today. Walmajarri clearly wished to kill and eat it, but I was too fascinated by the lizard for him to do so. It’s scales shimmered in the light like granite, and for so long it looked like the stone it sat on.
September 13, 1936: We’ve reached our destination. It’s basically a giant canyon, though the walls… there’s something about them that tugs at part of my brain. It’s like I’ve seen the pattern before in something extremely significant, and I should know what the pattern means. Whenever I look at the canyon from the cliff face overlooking it, I get this feeling of deja vu.
The music is getting stronger. It’s not actually coming from the environment, it’s coming from my mind. Whenever I start to get lost in though, it’s there, but somehow not there at the same time. Not the only strange thing, either. When I woke up this morning, I could have sworn my body had altered, like I was taller with my arms and legs longer. There was more coiled energy, less steady endurance. I tried entering the Walk. It works, but I could have sworn there was something different about it.
I mentioned all this to Jarri. I didn’t like the look on his face when I told him about the second part. It was a cross between ‘this worries me’ and ‘everything according to plan’. Make no mistake, Jarri is no Machiavelli. He’s the polar opposite. But it would be just like him to keep the details of a location from me on the grounds that it’s a sacred place.
Sometimes people think that the gods are the focus of religions. That’s not entirely true. In many places, they are the most devout adherents of it, as much as they may be able to coexist in perfect harmony with those holding other beliefs. Many gods disdain worship, Jarri included, even (or especially, in the case of many more chaotic, freewilled gods) when it is of them. Jarri doesn’t see himself as something to be worshipped up high. He sees himself as a creature of the Dreaming, perhaps more wise than most mortals, but only because he’s been around longer- but still falliable. He makes mistakes.
Like his tendency to misuse British swearwords.
September 14, 1936: I trust Jarri. He’s been a friend for a very long time. Hundred years, in fact. I can still remember when we met.
But this… this is strange. As I said before, Jarri’s always had a wilding effect on me; it comes from him being a feral god. But never before has the effect been physical. I can barely move, it seems, without a slight ache in my bones, and I know that my body morphology is changing dramatically.
It’s not Jarri, I’m quite sure of it. It’s the canyon. I’ve spent all day analyzing it, to Walmajarri’s evident annoyance, and there’s something this place is doing that is changing me. Whether it’s magic or science, I don’t know. Probably magic, but who is to say that magic and science are not the same thing here?
September 15, 1936: Jarri’s looking reinvigorated. His body morphology is changing slightly too. I suspect it’s the effect of the canyon.
I’m beginning to grow impatient. I might not want Walmajarri to die, but I would very much like to know what it is he wants me to do. Even if it was actually nothing of import, I’d stay with him until the last. But I should know.
September 16, 1936: I stopped worshipping the gods of my people a long time ago. I saw them for what they were: entities like Walmajarri, like Bast, like Lugh, like Thor. I have tried to stop swearing by them, though it is often instinct.
I swore by the gods of my people today, when Jarri finally revealed why he had brought me here. I should have guessed something along the lines of what he told me.
Gods are archetype manifestations; I know it, the gods know it, anyone who associates with them knows it. Therefore a god has an incredible amount of energy- potential energy- bound up inside of him or her. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. When a god dies, that energy doesn’t just vanish, it’s got to go somewhere. Sometimes it dissipates. Sometimes it creates an explosion so vast that it dwarfs anything that has ever been seen. Sometimes the god creates a new sacred place with their last breath, or works a miracle.
Walmajarri intends to work a miracle. He has had enough, he says, of the Europeans driving species extinct. He has had enough of his friends dying because of the actions of fools. He has had enough of entire ecosystems collapsing around his ears, and entire ethnic groups being driven to ruin.
And so he intends to stop it. With his dying breath, he will create a sacred place where the essence of species can be stored. The canyon will trap the essence of any creature that dies within its borders. The god associated with the creature would still die if all specimens died, but there would be a chance of coming back in the future.
We will make preparations tommorrow, he says. I must find the last thylacine and bring it here. Jarri knows where she is now. Jarri knows that she is hunted, too, and old and weak and sick.
September 17, 1936: I found her. She was fearful, but as Jarri said, she was weak. But she delayed me long enough for the hunters to catch up with us.
“Stand aside. Damn thing killed my best laying hen,” the lead hunter said, brandishing a long-barreled firearm in my face. I crouched down next to the thylacine, which I had soothed with a small pipe Jarri had given me.
“Can’t do that,” I said as I shook my head, and vanished into the Way with the last thylacine before the bullet left the barrel of his rifle.
September 18, 1936: It is done. Jarri turned to floating motes of light before me. I stayed with the thylacine until she died. Strands of light traveled from her body into the soil as she did so. Because what thylacines are is still intact, Walmajarri might return, someday. Until then, though, for all intents and purposes, he is dead.
My body is returning to normal, but my mind will never be the same.
You said they would never remember you, Walmajarri. I say differently. I say they will never forget you, I say that they will never forget the thylacine, because I will not let them. I will travel from place to place, planting evidence for your continued existence. I will place you in art whenever possible. And ultimately, I will bring you back, though I do not know how.
You will see a new dawn, Walmajarri.
—-
September 18, 2006- Sydney: “The genetic programming is completed. We’ve reached stage three of integration. The pups should be ready within a few weeks.” Dr. Jacobsen stood next to me. How I loath him! The man has no ethics; he’d gladly kill a thousand sapients to make a few dollars. But I need him. All of the others I had approached had rejected me. Understandable. They believed in what they were doing; they were into science, not hare-brained plans to resurrect a species. Jacobsen was in science for the money, and unlike most of his colleages, he was a member of Marshall, Carter, and Dark, so he believed what I said. And so for the proper fee he was willing to convert an old warehouse into a lab.
“Soon,” I whispered, stroking the glass holding the preserved specimen. I could hear the slighest whisper in the back of my mind, a whisper from a voice I hadn’t heard in seventy years. Across the waters, I saw the sun rise.
Later that day, I sent a coded message to California, asking an old friend for a favor.
November 1, 2006: Today ten people wielding assault rifles modified to shoot tranq darts entered by a hidden doorway, darted Jacobsen, and took the thylacine pups to a sanctuary for careful nurturing. Odd how some organizations turn up in supposedly secure locations. Shame Marshal, Carter, and Dark don’t understand such things.
They should stop chasing me by next month. Jacobsen can hold a grudge, but he has better things to do than go after me. For that matter, eventually it’ll be more cost effective to let me go.
Jarri and I’ll meet at the usual place in 2010. With the advances in transportation technology, we can meet far more often, but he needs a bit of time.
In the meantime? I haven’t been to the Southwest since that skinwalker episode. Time to pay a visit. Figure after that I’ll go through Mexico and Central America. Maybe visit some Mayan ruins; I always liked Mayan ruins.
—-
Librarian’s Notes- Project Uluru is doing as expected. As of September 2011 the thylacine colony at Legacy has reached thirty-six individuals. Advance scouting for possible reintroduction sites completed. Reintroduction will begin once a suitable cover story is announced that doesn’t involve anomalies and the colony reaches one hundred individuals.
Tags: legacy, mc&d, australia, extinct, god, journal
