Look 'N Up Invasion

by Janice Carr Smith

Genres: Coming of Age; Contemporary Fantasy; Alien Invasion; Literary Fiction; racism; immigration; deformity; theocracy; farming; Magical Realism; meditation; empathy

Synopsis

FINALIST - THE WISHING SHELF BOOK AWARDS

HONORABLE MENTION IN 3 CATEGORIES: SCI-FI FANTASY,  NOVEL and YOUNG ADULT  from STORY MONSTERS INK

 

It's Baput's 12th birthday. The battle begins today,

While fighting the circadian predators that decimate their population every 3 years, the green-skinned royal family of an isolated, primitive world are accidentally transported to the Look'N Up Pomegranate Ranch in present-day California, where they are hired as immigrant farm workers by a particularly empathetic family who were once penniless farm workers themselves, and who carry a hideous genetic deformity. They believe in the Look' N Up Way: "It means you pull your head out of wherever you like to tuck it and look around at the people around you. Feel them. Think about them. Consider them. How do these green people feel?"

 

Guided by empathy, the two families explore each other's cultures in a richly woven story of religion vs. science; theocracy vs. democracy; women's rights; racism; otherization; castigation and the shocking psychological effects of living in a world with no otherwhere.

 

When they find that the predators have followed their green-skinned prey, and are hibernating on the ranch, waiting to attack an unsuspecting Earth, they must combine their very diverse talents to defeat them.

 

 "Entertaining and enlightening. ...Look 'N Up Invasion takes a modern and unique approach to the sci-fi genre as it tackles a complex array of themes, most notably the concepts of empathy amidst cultural diversity. This fantasy is at once thrilling and thought-provoking, exploring real-world issues of racism and sexism, religion and theocracy — all while tackling the impending threat of alien monsters." Katie Bloomer, Book Trib

 

"Enthralling....A cleverly plotted mix of fantasy, family drama, and cultural debate. Highly recommended!" The Wishing Shelf

 

"The perfect read for those who enjoy a young adult, sci-fi and fantasy driven drama that also explores complex moral questions. The physical threats that the characters face is expertly woven into the moral and psychological trauma that each face as their worlds grow. Thought-provoking, thrilling, and entertaining, Look 'N Up Invasion is a must read genre fiction narrative that readers won't be able to put down." Christina Avina, Pacific Book Review.

 

"I recommend Look 'N Up Invasion to readers who enjoy drama filled thrillers and sci-fi. ...A thrilling book with lots of plot twists, drama, and action. The vivid description and detailed narration made the reader visualize the events. The storyline flows perfectly, and the reader gets to enjoy each character. I like that with Janice Carr Smith's writing, you get to choose your hero and not rely on the author to select heroes and villains for the reader. Most of the main characters have a balance between their strong sides and weaknesses, and that makes them fascinating." Aaron Washington, Hollywood Book Reviews.

 

 

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Release date: March 6, 2023

Publisher: Janice Carr Smith

Print pages: 682

Content advisory: violence, religious debate, controversial issues

Sample

 

1. First Pomegranate Day

Baput could feel the people’s excitement, and their fear, when he arrived at the Great Hall as part of the Holy Entourage. His friends Bazu and Pindrad were standing with their families across the plaza paved with flat rocks. Pindrad’s 17^th-year sister and Baput’s betrothed, Tamaya, stared at Baput with appraising eyes below arched eyebrows in a high forehead the color of the soft, thick moss that grew on the cold, dark side of the rocks in the forest. 

Uncle Felsic left the Holy Family and crossed the plaza to join his 8^th-year daughter, Trillella, who shared his olive skin and purple freckles, and his wife, Aunt Peratha, pale as a peeled cucumber. All 25 families were there, their skins the color of spring grass, or the leaves of the mighty oaks, or the needles of the lofty pines. 

The Holy Family filed across the West Trench on a simple wooden bridge to reach the stage, a temporary platform in the center of the rectangle formed by the four battle trenches in front of the Great Hall.  Baput followed behind the Akash, but he could not join him on the platform, because he was only 12. He was to stand on the bloodstained ground in front of the stage with his parents, Salistar, who was Tether to and daughter of Akash, Valko, Guard of Akash, and G-Pa’s dog, Shastina, a wolf-like creature in lavender with deep purple highlights. 

When everyone was in place, the singing abruptly stopped, and Baput’s G-Pa, the Holy Akash, took center stage, his legs apart, his arms open, his longstick held aloft, bedecked with strings of beads and feathers.  His heavy robe of woven yal grass, dried to a bleached white, framed his wirey form.  Scrawny wrists and neck extended from the baggy tunic and drawstring pants he wore beneath the robe.  Of the same woven grass, in a simpler weave, the undergarments were identical to those of his loyal subjects, man and woman alike. 

His shriveled green skin, silvery grey like the leaves of the willows by the river, was turning yellow along the wrinkles, just like those leaves were doing now in the crisp fall air.  His hair, once lush and black as Baput’s, and his beard, once an impenetrable ebony like Valko’s, were now sparse strings of faded lavender. He began to recite the First Pomegranate Day Litany, or was it?

“People, this shall be a First Pomegranate Day like no man has ever seen before. On this day, I shall defeat the nimblies and the bumblies with the weapon that I found in the Holy Cave and assembled personally at great self-sacrifice, for you, my people. I tell you, on this day, the nimblies and bumblies shall be no more!”

“No more nimblies!  No more bumblies!” the crowd chanted. The men shook spears and longsticks above their heads, their faces, dark as ivy, light as lichen, and every shade in between, were smeared with white zinc and black magnesium war paint. When the chanting died down, the Akash continued.

“You men go enjoy the wine. No need to occupy the trenches. You women will not see your sons die on this day, or tomorrow. Celebrate, people!  The curse of the nimblies and bumblies shall end this day. I shall do this. You and your sons shall sing my name into the future for all time.”

Dark brown eyes blinked long black eyelashes. Faces the colors of pale mullein, delicate basil, and deep forest shade stared, motionless.

 “Well, go on, now, celebrate!” the Akash roared the order. Still, no one moved.

Baput gestured frantically at his G-Pa from the ground below. The old man bent down to him, the stiff strings of his lavender beard falling in the boy’s face. Baput brushed it aside with respectful indulgence and whispered, “G-Pa, you must speak The Litany!”

The Akash groaned, straightened up and ambled back to center stage. He recited the familiar words in a monotone before the silent crowd.

“I have been to the Akashic Plane, the River of Sight, the Never-ending Flow. The Plane bears all the knowledge of the past, present, and future to any man with the wisdom to seek it. I cast a hopeful mold of the future into it, so that the power manifested there will give us another cycle, another three years of living together and loving one another. The vibrations of all who went before us remain there, part of the eternal energy of the Akashic Plane. Those who fall in battle this cycle will join them with pride.”

He went off script again. “Except none of you will die this cycle. Not by nimbly today nor bumbly tonight, and not for the next two tomorrows, for I alone shall defeat them all today. By midnight tonight, we shall have forever won the right to continue planting the Holy Seed. Pomegranates shall continue!  We shall continue. We shall be forever!”

“No more nimblies!  No more bumblies!  Not ever! No more!”  The crowd echoed the gleeful chant from the Tale of Yanzoo, which had not yet come true.

“They have awakened!” The Akash suddenly bellowed over the jubilant chanting. The gleeful chant crystallized to silence. The Great Horn sounded.

The men sprang into action. They ran for their weapons: their longsticks, wooden poles up to seven feet long, with tips of knapped stone or carbonized wood. They grabbed their shields, made of wooden stakes lashed together with ropes of woven grass. Some had blowguns and darts, and some wielded clubs. Others had short throwing spears or long-handled rackets for swatting the beasts from the air. Each man was trained to his weapon from the age of three. Even the men who held other professions besides warrior had trained on some weapon, and they all fought during the Season.

 “They are so early!” the women whispered to one another.

 “The men didn’t even get to eat!” worried Baput’s mother, Salistar, as she hurried into the Great Hall to her usual station. As Tether to Akash, she was in charge of the women’s vital battle support operation during the three-day Season. But not this time.

 

Baput followed his momama into the Great Hall. Women scurried back and forth carrying food to the tables to quickly feed the warriors, which included every able-bodied man of at least 15 years, or five three-year cycles. They grabbed grape leaves stuffed with purple beans and dark red beets, red peppers stuffed with peas and black rice, rolls of protein-rich sprouted pomegranate-seed bread, and a ceremonial taste of Uncle Felsic’s famous kip wine, made from the culls of the vital pomegranates they called kips. 

But Rakta, the War Chief, allowed only one ceremonial drink for each warrior. The men would need to keep their wits about them. The food was not just a harvest feast; it was preparation for a siege. A three-day nightmare that recurred every three years, right at harvest time.

As the men filed through, the women packed the rest of the food into fragile clay meal boxes that the ganeesh would carry out to the men at their posts whenever the bumblies and nimblies allowed. Enormous and highly intelligent, the elephant-like creatures were each trained to a battle station. They could find their way there in the pitch dark, surrounded by a cloud of bumblies. The purple-grey leather of an adult ganeesh could not be penetrated by the savage needle of a nimbly, nor ripped by the razor-sharp horn of a bumbly.

Men did not enter kitchens, not even one who is the Apprentice Akash and the son of the accustomed chief of that kitchen. Baput stopped at the kitchen door.

Salistar turned to face him, her heavy black eyebrows knotted in her basil forehead. Her lush, dark purple-black hair was tied back tightly, but errant strands dangled on either side of her face.  Baput hadn’t noticed the lavender grey highlights before.

“Check the ganeesh stalls. Make sure she secures them,” she directed her son.

Baput was startled by the order. The Apprentice Akash did not concern himself with woman’s matters, even if the woman was his momama.  The venom in his momama’s voice and the bitter look below those wrinkled brows were even more disconcerting.  His hand shook a little when he raised it to cup her cheek, sweet and soft as the new grass after the first fall rain. “I will, Momama,” he gulped. 

She squeaked, a small, helpless sound that was more unusual still, and rushed into the kitchen where he could not follow.

 

The scent of the freshly limed but still pungent vault toilets assaulted Baput as he approached the stables at the back of the Great Hall. Tamaya was there, swiftly packing a ganeesh for battle. He scanned the unfamiliar rigging with no idea if it was right or not, until the ganeesh pointed to a loose strap with her trunk—and maybe winked at Baput. It was hard to tell. 

Tamaya grabbed the loose strap and yanked hard, staring defiantly at Baput as she did. 

Breaking that stare, Baput scanned the other stalls. All empty. All in battle already, except old Heffala here. No tender-skinned babbets, not anymore.  He shuddered, and his eyes wandered back to Tamaya’s.

 “Are you scared?” she asked, those deep brown eyes probing.

“N-no,” he replied, more curtly and less honestly than he wanted to. “Are you?”

“Not if you’re here,” she said serenely, making Baput even more scared. He was afraid of the nimblies and bumblies, of course, but right then he felt more scared of those eyes of hers and the desire they showed for something that, on his 12^th birthday, he couldn’t quite identify and wasn’t ready to give.

“It’ll be alright,” he promised lamely.

“Do you see that? In the future?” she asked.

Was she trying to sound hopeful? It sounded more like a challenge.

“I can’t see the future. Not until I am Akash. In three years, I will ascend, and then I will see all the way to forever,” he bragged, looking up at her. Was she impressed? Or was she making fun of him? He couldn’t tell. In three years, she would be his wife.

 

They returned to the main hall, where they were surprised to find   Rakta, the War Chief, arguing with the Akash. To do so was almost unheard of, and it took more courage than fighting the nimblies and bumblies. Women rushed past them, sometimes bumping the War Chief, but never the Akash. Tamaya rushed away into the kitchen.

Baput crouched behind the spiral staircase to the East Turret to watch this unprecedented event. Shastina appeared at his side and stood rigid, her tail straight up and vibrating. Rakta’s dog, Wenzel, stood with bared teeth next to Rakta’s son and First Commander, Rakted.

“First, you tell the men not to fight!” Rakta shouted at the holy man! “Fortunately, the warriors obey me, not you. They know what to do.” Squat and green as a bullfrog, Rakta circled the Akash like a sparring partner. Women stopped, holding their loads, and watched. The men gathered around, whispering.

“Now you want to take your whole family to the Holy Cave!  We must all stay together in the Great Hall. We need Valko and Salistar. Salistar is in charge of the food. Valko must fight. As must Felsic. You know we need all hands. You should take only the boy, like last time.”

“I told you there will be no battle here!” The Akash stated, as if it were an undeniable fact. “It will all be over tonight.”

Rakta thumped the butt of his longstick on the floor. “What if it isn’t?” he grunted.

The Akash stood as tall as he could. The burly war chief, with his bulging muscles, wide frame, broad face as dark as the pines of the forest that had sacrificed themselves for this Great Hall, and his pile of dense, dark hair, dwarfed him in every way. Even so, Rakta took a step back.

The Akash swooped in, right eye first, invading the space Rakta had vacated. “Salistar is my Tether. We will be at the Holy Cave for the entire battle. If it is three days, in that unlikely event, we will need a food supply.” 

Stepping forward further, forcing Rakta back another step, the small but mighty Akash continued explaining his plan to Rakta. “Your Tether, Azuray, will take charge of the women here. As for Valko, his position is to guard me and the Akashic family. We will all be at the Cave. Therefore, Valko must be there. And we need Felsic’s strong legs to pedal the contraption.” 

“You play with fire, old man. You know you play with forbidden forces, yet you take our key manpower away during the Season.”

“We will kill more nimblies and bumblies with that thing in the Holy Cave than a hundred men with longsticks ever could. But we must go now. The nimblies are awake already. Salistar is packing Heffala.”

“You want a ganeesh, too?”

“Just Heffala, the old mother. She has no taste for battle, after last time. She can get us there safely, if we go now.”

Rakta didn’t like it, but he could not tell the Akash what to do, even if he was breaking the rules. The Holy One had powers he couldn’t even begin to understand. His Evil Eye could bring instant death or a slow, painful one, just by looking at a man. Rakta shuddered inside his ganeesh-skin armor. No one questioned the Akash’s wisdom. Not even secretly, in their innermost thoughts. Besides, in his hidden, truthful thoughts, Rakta agreed with the old man. They needed something new to fight the nimblies and bumblies. They increased with every passing cycle, and the people grew fewer.

Every three years, during the three days of constant struggle, they lost at least four or five young men, often more. In a village of only 100 people, those losses added up. But why not take it one step further? Why commit the sin of Shavarandu by messing with that contraption the Akash found in the Cave, but not Insitucide, the seemingly simpler task of killing the beasts in the caves while they slept, which also was forbidden? Rakta shook his head, glad he was not the Akash. War decisions made sense. The Akash had to obey all the rules handed down from the Old Ones, sometimes for no conceivable reason.

 “Take what you need. I can’t stop you,” Rakta grumbled, hurrying off to tend to the remaining forces. This would take some adjustments!  Who would take charge of Valko’s troops? His mind ran through the remaining men for a substitute commander for the West Trench, their final line of defense before the Great Hall full of their women, children, and food.

The Akash stood motionless amidst the bustle. He rested on his longstick, far more ornate than Rakta’s. His ceremonial robe flowed around him, beautifully woven and beaded by Salistar.

Baput approached cautiously. “G-Pa, the ganeesh is ready. Are Momama and Popa coming? Uncle Felsic?”

“Yes, Grandson.” The Akash turned, burying his recent argument behind him. “Go get them and tell them it is time. We must hurry.”

The Battle

Four boys under 15, too young for battle, stood ready to close the heavy doors made of whole logs lashed together. Baput ran through them, out onto the battlefield where the men were quickly disassembling the stage where the Akash had just delivered his sermon. They were taking its planks to the trenches for bridges, and for the bit of cover they would provide.

The Akash was right beside Baput, his two-toned purple dog, Shastina, at his heels. Baput could hear the heavy footsteps of his large, heavily bearded popa, and the much lighter steps of his petite momama.  Uncle Felsic’s clumsy steps faltered. 

Someone squealed, “Popa!”

The Akash kept going, but Baput turned back to see his little cousin, Trillella, running to her popa, arms outstretched, crying, “Popa, don’t go!  Take me with you!”

Felsic’s wife, Aunt Peratha, was right behind her. “Trillella!  No!  You stay here with me!” 

Trillella threw herself into Felsic’s arms. Peratha reached them, and the little family huddled together on the open battlefield while the boys closed the doors to the Great Hall. 

Baput’s giant popa, Valko, rushed over to his younger brother’s family, swallowing them up in his great bulk.  He plucked his little niece out of the group, carried her to where Baput and Salistar waited with the ganeesh, and placed her gently on the ground. Felsic and Peratha rushed to join them and they all ran along the edge of the battlefield while the warriors piled into the trenches with their clubs, darts, and spears. 

Heffala, the ganeesh, loaded with three days’ supply of food and supplies, galloped ahead of them. They all ran closely behind her, obscured by her dust. Valko brought up the rear, towering over his family like a mighty oak, his long, black hair flying behind him. They left the battlefield and started up a worn trail that lead east, out of the village. 

They caught up with the Akash at the east end of the orchard. On the right, willow-clad hummocks sloped away to the river, concealing the underground chambers of the Lair of the Unmarriageables. Ahead, the Holy Cave beckoned from its spire of pink dolomite framed in the eternal upriver mist.

As they grew closer, Baput could see the smoke from last night’s fire still trickling from the chimney, a tiny hole high in the side that faced west, toward the Great Hall. He, G-Pa, Popa, and Uncle Felsic had been there long into the night, setting up the mysterious weapon.

The main entrance to the Holy Cave faced the river. It was large enough for two ganeesh to enter side by side, but only after climbing, single file, 30 feet of steep, narrow staircase hewn from solid rock. At the top, a flat stone porch spread out in front of the wide, arched entrance.

The men tightened the straps on her load, and Heffala lumbered up the stairs ahead of them, with Shastina scrambling up at her heels. The rest clambered after the animals, the Akash in the lead, Peratha and Trillella bringing up the rear.

The Akash stopped the last two at the door. “These females cannot enter!” he bellowed. He stood at the doorway, feet spread and hands on his hips, as if his thin frame could block the wide opening.

Peratha and Trillella stood before him, eyes pleading.

Felsic ran over. “You must let them in! The nimblies are coming!  The animals are allowed in, but not my family? Let them pass!”

The Akash stood firm. “My dog can stay. She is family. The ganeesh must go. Salistar is my daughter and my Tether.  But these two are not of Akashic blood and have no right here.”

Felsic surprised everyone by becoming the second person today to argue with the Akash. “I am not Akashic either. Nor is Valko.” He glanced anxiously at his big brother. Would Valko be mad? No, Valko came right to Felsic’s side.

“You two are men,” the Akash said, as if they were idiots. “Besides, I need you. But low-born females,” he sneered, “can never enter the Holy Cave!”

“They need to help Salistar with the food,” Valko was ready to argue with the old man, as well.

Salistar didn’t need any help, but she wanted Peratha and Trillella safely inside the Cave, so she stilled her pride and kept quiet.

“They stay outside, with the ganeesh,” the Akash replied coldly. “The ganeesh will protect them.”

“But we will be here at night when the bumblies come. Surely they can come in then!” Valko persisted.

“We’ll see,” the Akash muttered cryptically. “Now go! Off with you!” He shooed the woman, girl, and elephant down the steep stairs to the ground far below.

 

Baput inhaled a slow, deep breath as he stepped inside the Holy Cave and stared down at the Holy Rock.  Shiny, smooth, perfectly round and about eight feet in diameter, the metallic sphere lay half-buried in the floor. The Akash had told him that it gave the Holy Cave its power, but Baput still didn’t understand how it worked.

Now it would provide the energy for a new weapon that would put an end to their symbiotic predators, the nimblies today and the bumblies tonight, and the Great Battle would be over forever. No more momamas and popas would bury their 16^th-year sons.  No more nimblies, no more bumblies, not ever no more. Baput heard the people’s chant, their most fervent desire, repeating in his head. G-Pa is right.  If we don’t follow all the rules, Kakeeche might be angry and make us fail. But what we’re doing is against the rules! But it’s so important! 

He hesitated, scanning the Cave.  It was a large, open space, except for two tunnels that disappeared into the depths. Daylight gleamed weakly from what they called the chimney, an opening above the fireplace that collected the smoke into a horizontal tube that ran almost a hundred feet along the ceiling to the tiny hole on the west side of the dolomite bluff, facing the Great Hall. The other tunnel went straight back into the wall behind the Holy Rock. No hint of light emerged from that chamber, where they had found all these strange objects and the cryptic instructions for their assembly into a weapon.

Baput shuddered at the darkness and turned back toward the Cave entrance, preferring to face the horror he understood: the approaching nimblies.

But instead, he faced another unfamiliar horror. Uncle Felsic, wordless but obviously furious, stormed past him and the Holy Rock toward the back of Cave and into that dark tunnel, where a stationary bicycle stood, with a thick black cord dangling from the back. With one muscular arm, he hoisted the heavy apparatus roughly and hauled it to the front of the Cave, dragging the wire, yanking impatiently when it caught on every rock and bump along the way.

“Careful, you idiot!” the Akash barked. 

Ignoring the holy man, Felsic slammed the bicycle down just inside the Cave entrance where he could see Peratha and Trillella, huddled together with the loyal ganeesh. He looked down at his family. “OK?” he asked them. They nodded.

Baput didn’t think they looked OK at all, nor did Felsic. He grasped his uncle’s shoulder. “Are you ready?” he asked, seeking Felsic’s eyes. He held them for a moment, breathing deeply and softly, until those wild eyes finally focused. “We’ll kill them all,” he promised rashly. “They don’t stand a chance,” he squeezed Felsic’s shoulder. “Now, it’s time. I will connect the strands.”

 Baput picked up the end of the bicycle’s cord and took it to the levers he was to attend. He uncoiled two more wires and connected one to the cord from the stationary bicycle. He plugged the other one into the Net, a feather-light weave of fine, stiff, silvery white fibers that covered the Holy Rock like a crinkly queen-sized satin sheet.

A heavy metal tube, about eight inches across and polished to a reddish shine, protruded from under the Net, pointed at the Cave entrance.   Baput knew how heavy that tube was. Even Popa could only lift one end of it. They never could have set all this up without Heffala. Now she’s banished outside, with my aunt and my little cousin. Once again, Baput fought back his budding doubts. Surely, his G-Pa, the Akash, knew what was best.

He suddenly realized the Rock was humming.

And the Cave walls were humming back.

Had this ever-increasing hum already been there?  Had he not noticed it over all the arguing on the porch?  The Net still lay lifelessly over the Rock, over the copper pipe.

“Now, Felsic,” Baput ordered, pointing at the bike and pulling the first lever.

Felsic grudgingly began to pedal the wheel that turned the belt that spun the cylinder that generated the fearsome and forbidden Shavarandu that powered the weapon.

The Rock hummed louder. It began to glow. The pitch rose higher, and the Net lifted off the Rock. Paralleling the Rock’s perfectly curved shape, it hung suspended about six inches above it on a cloud of white light.

Baput could hear the nimblies thrumming the air upriver.

“Peratha, Trillela, get back against the wall. Stay still!” Felsic urged, pedaling harder. His family flattened themselves against the wall. Heffala pressed against them, covering them with her tough hide.

Valko lifted the end of the heavy pipe that stuck out from the Net.   He ran his fingers over the astounding material, smooth, uniform—and hard as rock! He aimed it at the first swarm of nimblies that appeared out of the upriver mist on their ravenous journey to the Great Hall.

 

There were 100 nimblies, in neat rows of 10. They resembled giant dragonflies, eight inches long with a double set of 12-inch wings, today. They would be even bigger tomorrow. Decked in a brindle pattern of muted yellow and orange, with wings of rust-colored lace, they could blend with the fall foliage, but they didn’t spend much time hiding in the trees.

Their fearsome faces were more mosquito than dragonfly, featuring two multifaceted eyes over a needle-like proboscis that could easily pierce a man to his heart and drain it in minutes, if given the time. If not, their stingers delivered a paralyzing poison that left the victim helpless when the bumblies came that night.

Baput pushed the next lever. The room darkened a bit, and the humming was muted as part of the energy that had collected between the Rock and the Net was directed into the tube. It poured out the other end as a laser of light and vibration.

Valko pointed the tube at the nimblies. Felsic pedaled as hard as he could, increasing the pitch even more. It hurt his ears, but he just pedaled harder.

The first row of nimblies flew straight past the Cave entrance, on their age-old migration route to the Great Hall. They did not seem to notice the Akashic family in the Cave, or Peratha, Trillella, and Heffala, whose grayish purple hide blended with the cliff below the Cave.

The concentrated beam shot straight out from the Cave entrance, hitting the closest nimbly in the first row. It exploded with a loud pop, black-red guts flying everywhere. Felsic hooted and Salistar ran to the front of the Cave to see the results.

The remainder of the first row continued without a pause, but Valko was ready for the second row.  He pointed the stream just ahead of the row, and as they entered the beam they popped, the closest one first, then all the way down the row, as if the beam travelled right through one victim to penetrate the next one. 

“It’s working!” the Akash cried gleefully, dancing around the Holy Rock and shaking his fist at his lifelong enemies as they disappeared before his eyes, his dream coming true.

Five more rows went by, fifty more nimblies died, but the sixth row of nimblies veered suddenly and flew right toward the Cave entrance.

Felsic pedaled even harder as Valko blasted the first three arrivals in quick succession.

In a single, fluid movement, the Akash flung off his beaded robe and cast it toward the entrance, trying to catch the invading insects, or at least knock them down. The robe flew out the door, and the nimblies backed out of the Cave, spinning off course. With a satisfied snort, the Akash leapt onto the Rock, landing at the peak of the perfectly rounded surface, in the middle of the floating white Net, pressing it down with his longstick and his feet so it made contact with the Rock’s smooth surface.

 There was a blinding flash.

 

The light no longer streamed the cave mouth, and the loud hum stopped abruptly.  There was only a weird ringing sound as the metal tube Valko had been holding fell to the stone floor of the porch above them. Peratha and Trillella peeked up at the Cave mouth from between the sweaty pillars of Heffala’s legs, then quickly retreated as some huge flying thing fluttered to the ground.

“The Akash’s robe!” Peratha whispered. She had helped Salistar with that elaborate beadwork he’d insisted on.

Peratha dared to stick her head out again. The closest nimblies were diving and swirling out of control. She winced as one ran full speed into the outer wall of the Cave and fell to the ground, twitching. The last few rows staggered away in ragged spirals, then regrouped over the river and resumed their migration to the Great Hall.

Peratha grabbed Trillella’s shoulder and they struggled free from Heffala’s heaving side. Squinting up at the wide, dark, silent hole at the top of the steep rock stairs, Peratha called, “Felsic?”

“Popa?” Trillella peeped.

Suddenly, Heffala snatched the little girl up by the waist with her trunk and placed her firmly on her broad back. Then she put her trunk around Peratha’s slumped shoulders and gently urged her ahead. Together, they climbed the stairs to the Holy Cave that had been forbidden to them. Peratha wasn’t sure if a ganeesh could override an Akashic order, but it didn’t matter. There was no one in the Cave. No Akash, no Felsic or Valko, no Salistar or Baput. There was just the Holy Rock, draped with the soft, white Net, the power crank Felsic had pedaled, the tube Valko had held, lying on the floor, and the food boxes Salistar had been unpacking.

“Where are they?” squeaked a befuddled Trillella.

“I don’t know, Sweetie,” Peratha replied with little comfort.

“What do we do now, Momama?”

Peratha looked at the stash of food at the back of the Cave. Enough for five people, for the three-day Season. “We stay here,” she replied, brightening. “Look!  There’s gup cake, just for us!”

The Passage

The pressure passed into Baput like a wave, but it did not pass through him. It stayed, incomprehensible and unbearable. He couldn’t breathe, and his head felt like it was in a pomegranate-seed press. He felt the Akashic Plane tighten to a line and stretch away from him. He could feel his friends, Bazu and Pindrad, and his betrothed, Tamaya, moving farther and farther away, and then, with a gut-wrenching snap, they were gone. For the first time in his life, Baput could not feel his people, or any of the animals and birds of home. He couldn’t feel the village at all. He could only feel his parents, grandfather, Uncle Felsic, and Shastina.

The Akash let out a howl like a stuck bumbly. “I’ve lost something,” he muttered over and over. “I’ve lost something.” 

“Akash?” Valko croaked groggily.

Shastina let out a short, whiny howl.

Suddenly Uncle Felsic was screaming, “Peratha! Trillella!” 

Baput opened his eyes. Cold blue light stabbed his head. His family lay sprawled on the ground in awkward positions. Everyone who had been inside the Holy Cave. But where were Peratha and little Trillella? Shastina, their dog, was here, but where was Heffala?

They were no longer inside the Cave, but outside on a bare spot of flat, rocky ground. There was no cave anywhere. Just a steep cliff above them, draped in dense green vines. Below them, on the other side of the wide, flat area, was a steep bank that dropped to a dry riverbed. What happened to the river? Baput wondered, and as his eyes focused he could see water glinting behind a clump of willows on the other side of a wide gravel expanse. The familiar river was so low!  His eyes scanned to the left, upriver, where the stream bent northward and the water got closer, just like at home. The upriver distance was concealed by the mists, as usual.

 “Baput!  Baput!  Come to me, Boy!  I’ve lost something!  I’ve lost everything!” the Akash continued to rant.

Baput led the Akash away from the others as they staggered to their feet. Shastina followed them faithfully. “Did you feel it, G-Pa?” He used the familial address, as if they were safe in their private home. “It broke! I can’t feel anyone except those who are with us. What happened, G-Pa?” 

“I don’t know,” G-Pa whined. “Come, meditate with me.” 

Baput looked back at the others. His parents were trying to console Felsic over the apparent disappearance of his wife and daughter. Popa looked over and nodded to Baput.

Steadying his G-Pa, Baput noticed the Akash had lost his robe somewhere. He wore only a simple grass tunic over woven drawstring pants like the rest of them. He looked smaller, somehow.

They walked upriver toward that bend where they could see the water glinting in the hazy distance. The others staggered after them without speaking.

The river veered toward the closer bank. Sunlight flashed off the tepid flow topped with green algae as it slugged its way reluctantly downriver. They found a clear spot and sat down on the bank. G-Pa reached out and took Baput’s hand. They sat cross-legged, silently staring at the river and feeling the ever-changing frequencies of light and sound and the currents in the air. They inhaled long breaths that filled their chests and bellies, held for a few seconds, and then breathed all the way out through their noses, squeezing their chests and bellies tight.

Baput concentrated hard, prepared to ascend to the familiar Akashic Plane, as G-Pa had taught him. The Plane wasn’t a real, physical place. You couldn’t really go there, or see it in the sky. It was a place of the mind where a river of thought flowed constantly, always bringing wisdom if you just watched and waited in deep meditation. The Plane never failed to provide exactly what was needed, just at the right time, to one patient enough to wait and wise enough to recognize it.

By the ancient method he had been taught, Baput stilled his soul and his mind. He let his worries fall away, all his thoughts; even his body seemed to drop like a shed skin as his sprit rose into the sky to the place where the Constant Comfort flowed.

But this time it was different. He found himself on a sterile-looking plane that flashed with sparks of blue light. He wasn’t connected to it. It hummed in a way that irritated him. He couldn’t concentrate. He thought he heard voices, but he couldn’t understand what they said. It didn’t feel like the Plane at all. But it was energy, and it had knowledge that they desperately needed. He pulled out of G-Pa’s cold hand and rose, walking to the left, up the river, Shastina at his heels. G-Pa rose worriedly and waved his hands at the others. They scurried over to him, exchanging muddled glances.

“He goes upriver?” Valko questioned.

 “Into the mists?” Salistar whispered fearfully, moving closer to Valko.

The Akash said nothing but followed his apprentice. They all trudged upriver with their heads down, except for occasional, habitual scans of the sky, up and to the left.    

A willow tree with a trunk the size of a grandfather kip tree grew almost horizontally along the riverbank. It had been tied down as a supple child and trained to lie flat for about six feet before rising in a graceful “S” curve. A thick, raggedy rope still restrained its constant efforts to be straight.

And on that sideways tree trunk sat the strangest creature Baput had ever seen.

It was a kid, about his age, with skin the color of very dry grass, no color at all, it seemed to Baput. His hair was a shinier yellow, like morning sunlight, and it flopped over where his left eye should be. His right eye was an astounding blue. Baput had never seen anyone who didn’t have green skin, black or lavender hair, and deep brown eyes like his.

The creature looked up at them, straight into Baput’s eyes. Baput felt sudden, inexplicable relief.

“Hello!” the strange boy said. Baput understood the intent as a greeting, but he had never heard the word before.

“Ha-low…?” he repeated hesitantly.

The light-colored boy looked past Baput to his family. Then he brushed his hair back with his left hand, revealing a second amazing blue eye. Baput could see that something was puzzling him.

“Are you here for the job?” the strange boy asked.

“The job.” Baput again repeated the sounds. Why were this boy’s words so strange?  Baput had never heard any of these words before.

“Yeah, the pomegranate job.”  The boy enunciated the strange words slowly and carefully.

 “Pom-o-gran-it!” Baput repeated. He brightened as a picture of a kip popped into his mind. “Pomegranate!” he repeated loudly, perfectly. “Kip!” He turned around shouting, “Momama, Popa! Kip! Pom-o-gran-it!”

They all repeated it back, even G-Pa: “Pom-o-gran-it.” 

“Yes!” whooped the pale boy, catching their enthusiasm.

“Yes!” mimicked Baput.

They followed their beige host up a narrow foot trail along the river, occasionally glancing up at the sky. Baput walked by G-Pa’s side, trying to hear what he was mumbling. He mostly seemed to be saying, “It’s gone!  It’s gone!  I can’t get it back!” over and over.

Had G-Pa completely lost his connection with the Plane? Baput couldn’t imagine that. He still felt the Plane, far above him, but that alien surface lay between him and it. It was interfering, and it was getting stronger. It bombarded his third eye with a staggering onslaught of images. New knowledge, all downloaded in an unsorted jumble with no reference, no handle to even begin to sort it out. He focused his eyes on the back of the tawny head of the boy they followed into the unknown. He couldn’t read the strange boy’s mind, but he could feel his world, his feelings, and his knowledge. And when he said a word, Baput could find the picture in his head. Baput found this disconcerting, but somehow reassuring.

 

2. The Look’N Up

Jerry led the green aliens who had just appeared out of nowhere, apparently in search of work, straight to the farmhouse where his parents waited desperately for help with the harvest. On the way, he tried to empathize. It was the Look’N Up Way to try to imagine what the other person was feeling. “Walk in their shoes,” his parents always said. He looked down at the green people’s patchwork sandals of dark red leather, or was that pomegranate skin? Well, he couldn’t imagine where they came from, not yet. Probably not Earth, based on their color, but he hadn’t seen a spaceship. He found he couldn’t imagine being green without knowing where they came from, but he could imagine what it would be like to be in a strange land and not understand the language.

That green kid was bigger than him but he seemed to be about the same age.  He beckoned to the boy with the avocado skin to walk with him. The kid gave him a look that made him feel uncomfortably like a boss, then he joined him at the front of the line.

Jerry pointed to things and named them, having the burly green kid repeat each word. He started by pointing to himself with his thumb. “Jerry.” Before the alien kid could answer, he pointed to the awesome dog at his side, a German shepherd in two tones of lavender. “Dog,” he said. “Tree. Rock. Hill. Sky. Sun. River. Bird.” 

 “Zebkin!” the lighter-green woman cried with wary delight, pointing as a deer sprang from willows by the river.

“Deer.” Jerry translated patiently.

Around a bend in the river, the valley opened up to a wide, green expanse with a cluster of wooden buildings. Behind those, row upon row of pomegranate trees gleamed red with fruit, even from this distance. The huge dark green guy with the lavish beard stared at the faraway trees for a long time.

 “Here’s the ranch.”  Jerry stopped at the vista. Brushing his hair away from his left eye again, he cocked his head, looked up and to the left and pointed that way, his left arm and forefinger fully extended.

The green people all jerked their heads in that direction and cringed. Except for the kid. His dark eyes grew wide as they fixed on an invisible point in the blank gray sky, as if he saw something wonderful there.

 “Welcome to the Look’N Up Pomegranate Ranch,” Jerry declared formally, knowing they wouldn’t recognize his ritual salutation no matter where they were from.