Wilderskies: How Mankind’s War on Nature Began

By Joel Machak

Nearly twenty thousand years ago, at the end of the last Ice Age, when vast glaciers still held much of the world in their grip, the forces of passion and power collide, creating a love triangle between a powerful human king and two of the great spirits of the earth: Nokomis, the Gentle Spirit of the Earth, and Tohopka, the Wild Spirit of the Earth. Jealousy and the lust for power drive a vengeful chase and consuming conflict that span a lifetime and two continents. This is a story that takes love and revenge to the limits of the human heart. The final desperate attempt at justice rains environmental destruction on the planet and fuels a desire for domination that still resides deep in the hearts of much of mankind to this day. This is the story of where humankind’s war on nature begins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669835202

Joel Machak

With passions for nature and the exploration of the human heart, Machak takes the reader on a historical journey to times long forgotten while unearthing the deepest desires and searing storms that outline the human soul. In WilderSkies, the ethereal presence of higher spiritual energies meets the darker earthiness of the untamed human heart in this ambitious telling. Joel brings his decades of writing experience and endless curiosity about life and the human condition to a story that may just change the way you look at your relationship with nature. His previous novels, Upheaval and Civilization Starship, both carry his stamp of pulling back the curtain on the human heart. The work he has done has been honored internationally and sits in the permanent collection at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History in Washington DC.

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Copyright © 2022 by Joel Machak.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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 any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/17/2022

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CHAPTER 1 IT MUST BE TOLD

CHAPTER 2 I SEE IT ALL BEFORE ME

CHAPTER 3 YOU ARE NOKOMIS

CHAPTER 4 ESCAPE OF A CAPTIVE SPIRIT

CHAPTER 5 A COSTLY CRAVING

CHAPTER 6 THOSE WERE SAVAGE TIMES

CHAPTER 7 THE KING’S HOME BY THE SEA

CHAPTER 8 THE PAINTED GIRLS

CHAPTER 9 A TASTE FOR POWER

CHAPTER 10 WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION

CHAPTER 11 A TALLY OF POWERS

CHAPTER 12 TOHOPKA AND FRIENDS

CHAPTER 13 AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD

CHAPTER 14 TO RULE THE WORLD

CHAPTER 15 IN THE KING’S CHARGE

CHAPTER 16 ESCAPE BY SEA

CHAPTER 17 TO DISTANT SHORES

CHAPTER 18 TRUTH ON THE ICE

CHAPTER 19 THE NEW LANDS

CHAPTER 20 INTO THE HEART OF IT

CHAPTER 21 SOMETHING GOOD

CHAPTER 22 RETURN TO THE KING

CHAPTER 23 HUNT AND SLAUGHTER

CHAPTER 24 THE FINAL JUSTICE

CHAPTER 25 THE STORY AT THE CENTER

CHAPTER 26 EARTH ANGER

CHAPTER 27 EPILOGUE: IT IS NOT OVER

DEDICATION

This novel is dedicated to our planet earth. May you find something in this story that helps you better see and respect her infinite wisdom and beauty.

CHAPTER 1

IT MUST BE TOLD

The tangle of warrior silhouettes danced through chilling rain and circled columns of flame and spark, chanting pleas to the skies. Their animal skin shields thrust up into the darkness, ceremonial paints loosed and dripping down bronzed arms. Deep into a second night, the rhythmic drumming and yodeling of despair and calling gripped these villages of the King’s Own People.

Not two days prior, in a single expression of human frailty, this simple society’s long peace was guttered out like a candle flame. The woman they knew as their earth spirit and guardian, Nokomis, the Earth Mother, who lived among them and protected their villages from wind and storm for some forty full turnings of the seasons now lay stricken and half-lifeless.

Some thousands of years on, it would be called a hemorrhagic lacunar stroke. In her particular case, a stroke causing paralysis of the left side of the body, impairment of short-term memory, and a nearly hallucinatory opening of the mind to long-buried remembrances. The volume of the errant pulse inside her head was no more than that of a few forgotten teardrops, but it would prove more than enough to rewrite the course of human civilization.

So it was, nearly twenty thousand years before this telling, out along the shoals and tidal flats some one hundred kilometers east of what is the modern Atlantic Seaboard of Maryland’s Eastern Shore. In those times, before the seas rose more than a hundred meters to their current level, there was no Chesapeake Bay, just an unnamed glacial river snaking through coastal wetlands. At low tide, the shoreline was far out at the very edge of the now-submerged continental shelf.

Inside her small mammoth-skin hut, in earshot of the drumming and wailing, lying under layers of fur, the Earth Mother squinted at the pain in her body and at the pain of the memories washing over her. Outside, sheets of rain raked the simple domed structure, while beneath the dripping smoke hole, a peat fire smoldered, adding its grease and bite to the air. The only useful light came from a few tallow-filled oyster shell lamps, casting everything in a trembling dance of shadow and sheen.

Across from the old woman, a much younger female figure sat cross-legged, not twenty full seasons’ turnings behind her. She sat on the dirt floor behind the enormous form of a skin-wrapped and twine-tied mammoth tusk. Its helical arc curled up and around the curve of the wet dome more than the length of three grown men’s arms outstretched. The tusk’s vinegar-soaked swaddling did little to help the dank atmosphere. The girl’s attention was fixed on a tidy set of bone and stone tools she carefully unfurled from a leather roll in her lap.

Once satisfied with her workspace at the tusk, the girl rose and lit a few more of the fat-filled oyster lamps. At the fire, she took stock of the contents of the earthenware crockery warming there. Gently resetting a lid, she commented to the old woman, My Earth Mother, you are awake. Would you like something to eat?

My child, what is it?

Mussels. And clams in green broth.

Yes, child. I am hungry. It is a good sign, I think.

The girl handed her Earth Mother a small crock of the stew. She began to offer a bone spoon but withdrew it, remembering that her elder had but one good hand.

As Earth Mother Nokomis gingerly took a sip from the crock’s rim, the girl spoke, I wonder if they are our clams.

Our clams?

From the beach.

Nokomis shook her head and scrunched her mouth, and through a slur that made it seem that half of her mouth was sealed closed, she slowly asked the girl a question, My child, can you tell me what has happened to me? I have fallen ill, I see, and there is pain, but I . . . I have no memory of how it came to be. Do you know the story?

The girl just looked blankly at her Earth Mother and blinked. My Earth Mother, yes, I was with you, when you fell, on the beach.

Will you tell it to me? I want to know it.

The girl looked off at the waiting tusk and back to Nokomis. But Earth Mother, if you cannot remember, how will we—

Nokomis interrupted. How will we carve my story? How will we tell the history of your people? Child, that I do remember. Too well, I think. The distant past all comes back to me. It comes like a flood of its own, overwhelming all thought in a gush of detail. Every time I close my eyes, there is more. Like it happened yesterday. It is a flood. Nokomis closed her eyes tight to squelch a tear. And after a settling long breath, she continued, But, child, the recent things? Those are lost. There is nothing. Please, can you tell it to me?

The girl slowly sat on the edge of the pile of fur blankets. Where shall I begin? Do you remember any of the day?

Oh, child, I see things, but I can make no sense of it. We were on the beach, I think.

Yes. Yes, it was late in the day’s sun. Was it a good day?

The girl winced a tight smile but went on, We were out on the flats, at ebb’s end. Giant clouds were rolling by far out over the sea, and the sun was setting over the dunes behind us. The clouds were in so many colors, and it was all reflected in the pools at our feet.

My child, that sounds beautiful. You tell it well.

We were looking for the telltale bubbles of buried shells, the clams. The tide was far out. We could just see the white ripples out at the horizon. Far out. We were talking and walking, winding our way around the pools. The girl paused, looking down, her face tightening at the next thought. And you fell. You just fell and did not move. It . . . it was terrible.

My child, what were we talking about? On the beach.

The girl looked off, remembering. Oh, you were talking about my carvings. You said you liked them. You said that I should carve what I see in my heart. That the ways of the past are good to learn but that I see different ways. And that I should carve what I see.

It is true, my child. You have a special vision, I think. You must work to capture it. Always remember that you are here for a reason. And it is yours alone.

Yes. That is just what you said. But then, you just fell. I was ahead of you, and when I looked back, you were lying in one of the shallow pools. My Earth Mother, it was terrible. I ran to you and pulled you out. On the king’s return! Your eyes! How they wobbled. You were looking out at the sky. Your eyes were so wide, but it was like you were blind and not seeing. You gasped and pointed. But there was nothing, nothing there. Just sky. Just clouds. And the moon. You just kept saying it, ‘He comes for me. It is as he promised. He comes for me.’

The moon? It is the Wild Man. My child, the Wild Man comes.

Yes. That is what you said! You so frightened me. The idea of it. The Wild Man coming back. I was so afraid. I looked, but there was no one. All I could see was the moon rolling out over the far clouds.

Not clouds. The vision I saw was ice. Yes, ice, I think.

Ice?

My child, you saw clouds. I saw an ice wall. A memory, child, the first memory to flood over me, I think. I saw it like I see you now. It was the wall of his cave in the north so long ago. Far north across the sea. Those ice walls danced and glittered in the firelight. I can see it. I was young and naked and lying in those furs. He was massaging hot oil into the length of my body. My child, the smells—I smell them now. And oh, I am there again. The spice of the oils. The musk of the furs. The fire. And the man. The man. The Wild Man moving his hands over me. Melting me. My child, I can feel it.

Nokomis closed her eyes. The young girl took a breath and blinked, eyes wide.

You said he comes for you. That it was as he promised. Earth Mother, I could not understand. I was frightened to tears.

Do not be afraid, child. He comes. But he comes only for me.

But, Earth Mother, you said such strange things. That he comes to take you. That a flood comes. That we must all leave these shoals. You were pointing at nothing.

But, child, it is true, I think. It is just as he promised me long ago. The Wild Man has come to take me. He comes for me. He brings this flood in me. It takes my strength, my life from me.

No, Earth Mother. It is not so. No one is taking you.

It is so, child. He promised me long ago that when it was over, that if the king succeeded in hunting him down and ended his life in this world, he would come for me. That he would come on a flood to take me from this life. To be with him. It has taken so long. But it is so. It is as he promised.

The old woman whispered out those words before dropping her face forward in tears. Fighting it, she spoke, slurring her words even worse through the pain, My child, he’s gone. My Wild Man, my Tohopka, the Wild Spirit of the Earth—he no longer shares this life with me. The thought of it. I am broken in two.

The girl held the old woman’s hand and continued her telling, On the beach, you yelled out, ‘No, I cannot go, not yet. There is more that I must do.’ Then you said that they must know. ‘It must be told,’ you said that.

Yes, child, that is also true. It is what we will do. We must tell the history. Without the full truth of it, you will be lost, I think.

You yelled at me that I must get help. But I couldn’t leave you like that. I was so confused and frightened. You said, ‘I had to. I had to go.’ I was trembling. You yelled, ‘Look, the flood comes.’ I turned, and I could see the tide returning. It was tumbling closer. I thought you were dying. I didn’t know what to do.

But, child, you did know what to do. And you did it. You went for help.

I was lost in it. The waters were coming. You were yelling. Then you jerked away and spat out the contents of your guts out onto the sand. Straight out of your mouth! You turned your face in an awful twist and yelled, ‘Go!’ It was like you were a different being. I jumped back and ran. I’m so sorry. I just ran. I left you alone with nothing. I was frightened and crying. I just ran.

The girl started to cry. Nokomis held her hand. Calm yourself, child. A great task is before us.

Aeralae breathed deep and settled some, still shaking. Earth Mother, we will tell your story, I know. But then, you said we would tell the history. I have not heard that word. History. What is it?

Nokomis sniffed a half smile. No, child, I suspect you have not. The history is the past before your time, before you were born. It is the story that cannot be spoken of. There are just a few elders left, and they are all vowed to hold it secret or forget it, I think.

Secret? But why?

Because, my young one, because it is the true story of your people and of your king. How we came to be in these New Lands. Who we all are. How I came to be among you to protect you from the skies, waiting out our lives for the king’s return. And the completion of the final justice.

The girl turned her head, taking it in. So many words I do not know. Final Justice? What is that?

You will see, child. As you will carve it in the ivory.

The girl had no words. She tried to summon a smile. Nokomis clenched her hand tighter. Child, my Aeralea, you did the right thing. You got help. You found the healer, Vorain. And he brought me the worms. To stop the bleeding. So I may live a few more days. That is good. And my old walking stick was a help, child. I had to fend off a few sea birds and crabs. Don’t worry, I did not harm them. They just wanted me to die so that they might have a feast, I think. It is their way of life and death. You ran, yes. But you came back.

Yes, I did. I found Vorain. On the king’s return! When I told him, I believe he was more frightened than I was. He gave you that mash of worms. And they brought you here, to your hut. He found the chief, and the fires were built, and the people began the calling for the king. It has been such a terrible excitement. Just horrible. The people are in a state like I have never seen. All of this day, you were here and asleep, but the people, the villages, have been a madness. They began the dancing and calling for the king’s return. With the fire circles. That’s when Vorain told me that you wanted me to carve your tusk, your story. Me! And . . . and the . . . that word. The history. The girl glanced to the tusk. My Earth Mother, it is an unimaginable honor. I can barely think of it. To be called to carve for you. I cannot imagine why . . . why you chose me.

As you carve, it will all be revealed, I think.

The girl turned her head like she was just newly aware of the drumming sounds from beyond the hut’s walls. Earth Mother, can you tell me? Is it true? Some say it is the end of the world. Is it so?

No, child. It is not so. It is true that I will soon leave you. My time on this earth is nearly over.

Earth Mother! Do not say it.

But it is true. This flood in me, there is blood flowing loose inside me, here, in my head, and it is more than Vorain’s mash of earthworms can undo. It will soon take me from this life, I think. Nokomis twisted her face and sucked her teeth. They don’t taste very good, child. Even when properly cleaned.

The worms?

Yes. It is hard to describe. They are such earthy creatures. My child, can you imagine it? They chew through the rot of life. In the dark and damp. Squirm by squirm. The old woman looked to the curve of the tusk. My child, perhaps that is what we will do."

Earth Mother, what do you mean?

It is just as the story we will tell. My lips, your fingers. Squirm by squirm, we will chew through the rot of life, I think.

But, Earth Mother, such a thought!

Oh, child, at least we have candles. Nokomis looked around the dank space, glazed and lost in thought. Though, child, perhaps it will stop the bleeding. Perhaps we can stop some of the bleeding. If there is time.

The young girl shook her head, lip trembling. The Earth Mother went on, I have protected the King’s Own People a very long time. But that time is past. The world will not end, but many things will. The wilder ways of the skies will return. The time of your people on these shoals is over. A great storm comes to wash these shoals clean. Your people can be saved, but first, they must know the truth of the history and of the king.

Without warning, the hut’s weather drape flew open, flooding the space with a colder air and a wave of the drumming. Two men stepped in, heads down and dripping wet, both wearing an air of serious portent.

The Earth Mother squeezed the girl’s hand and spoke straight into her eyes, My child, we have work to do.

Without a word, the girl rose, turning away from the visitors, and found her place at the tusk.

The elder of the two men, a nervous and gnarled specimen, shook the rain out of his dread nest of hair and spoke through a grayed and ragged beard with plaintive urgency, Earth Mother, we appeal to your mercies. This rain. Please. Yes. And this wind. Can you not hear it?

The other man—near his sixtieth returning of the cold airs, wearing an outsized coat of tattered splendor that squared his shoulders the width of two men—added on with less energy, almost despondent, You hear them chant. They call for the king’s return. But it’s a struggle to keep the call fires high. But they will keep dancing. As they must. You know that. He stepped closer to the old woman and slowly dropped to one knee in audience before her. His nervous elder paced behind him. And the drumming. It cannot stop. They call for the king. For the king’s return.

The old woman blinked at the rude intrusion, eyes out of sync; and fighting the slur of her half-numb face, she slowly repeated the people’s nearly universal phrase, The king’s return. She coughed a chuckle and added, I would like to be dancing in the rain, and looking away, she added under her breath, on your king’s grave.

The elder man winced and paced but pressed on, Earth Mother, for the sake of our people, we need you.

The broad-shouldered of the pair cut in, softly pleading, Please. Just tell us. Tell us what we must know. Why must you insist on telling the entire history? You are gravely ill. The skies have come undone. We are calling for the king. And you believe that you must tell us a story? Why?

The old woman answered coldly, Because it is time for the people to know.

The pacing man spoke, But the history? Can’t we let it just pass into—

She cut him short, Into oblivion? You would like that. Both of you. No, I will not take it with me. They will see it all in the ivory. And the people will know why this fate of their world has befallen them. They will know the truth of their king. And what is to come.

The older man reacted to the thought, On the king’s return! Do not speak it!

But the Earth Mother went on, They will know what they must do. And they will know why. Forever in the ivory. So they never repeat those crimes. In the end, you will know how to save your people.

The chief spoke, pleading, Can you not at least stop these rains?

The woman answered, My Chief, that luxury has passed.

The frail elder man spoke in his trademark nervous confusion, But you are the Earth Mother. Yes, the Gentle Spirit of the Earth. Our protector. The skies are yours. The seas are yours. They are in your power. Yes. They move to your whim. You can—

She cut him off again, Vorain, I have no strength left. My power over the heavens is gone. As I soon will be gone. It is as he promised.

The old man pivoted to rebut her, but the big-shouldered man raised his hand, stilling him. The old woman looked to the young woman in the shadows. I will tell it, and she will carve it.

The chief followed on, To the end. And in the end, we will know what to do. Isn’t that so?

She gazed at him, eyes wobbling. Can you tell me, what part of a day’s turning is this? I cannot sense it.

The older man answered, It is night, Earth Mother. Middle of the darkest.

The old woman closed her eyes. And the tides? Tell me of the tides.

The elder Vorain stiffened some at the odd question but answered, Yes, the tides are high. Terrible high. On the full moon beyond these clouds, yes. Terrible high. These past two days, yes. But why?

Nokomis nodded slowly and spoke, You two should go now. Leave us to our work. There is not much time, I think.

The elder Vorain opened his mouth to protest, but the chief rose quickly and pushed him backward toward the weather drape, his palm against the old man’s chest. He spoke back to Nokomis and the girl, We leave you then. To your work.

With no further ceremony, the two men left, leaving the wet skin drape to drop closed behind them. In their absence, the space breathed better.

CHAPTER 2

I SEE IT ALL BEFORE ME

Aeralae loosened the bindings at the blunt end of the tusk and drew back the moist skin wrappings to expose the prepared and softened ivory of the mammoth beast. The enormous mottled creamy-white shape curved up away from the girl in one graceful twisting turn, reaching a length of thrice her standing height. At the base, the body of the tusk was fully as big around as the girl’s waist.

The girl brought her vinegar-tinged fingers from the dressing wrap to her face and looked over at Nokomis lying back against a stack of hides, covered in furs to her neck. The old woman’s eyes glistened over, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Aeralae called to her, Earth Mother, what is it? Are you in distress?

My little one, no. It is just that I can see it. I can see it all there in the ivory, waiting for your hands.

The girl looked back to the softly curving surface across her lap, her mouth open. She looked up at her hostess, her mouth still slack.

Nokomis glanced at her and winced. You’re my carver? I think that you must be.

Barely breathing at the unexpected question, the girl carefully and slowly reintroduced herself, having been forewarned by Vorain of the elder woman’s failing memory. I am. I’m Aeralae. I can carve for you.

The Earth Mother slowly smiled, gazing at the girl, turning up one corner of her half-numb mouth through thin tears. Yes. I remember. You saved me. My carver. And outside, that sound. They are calling for the king, I think.

As the old woman’s mind seemed to rekindle, the girl let herself breathe once again. Yes, Earth Mother, we are calling for the king. For the king’s return.

The old woman squinted like the words brought physical pain. For the king’s return.

The young woman nodded. It is all we can do. The fires will burn until he comes.

The old woman sniffed a distorted half smirk. Drums and fires will not bring back your king, my child.

Do not speak it! We await the king’s return. It is what we live for.

Yes, my child, that part I remember. Nokomis inhaled and tried to reposition herself with painful difficulty. She shuddered and winced at her half-lame form. Her face wet, she addressed the curve of blank dentin lying across the floor between them, My child, do you understand what we are going to do?

I think so. You’re going to tell me the story of your life, and I’m going to cut it into the ivory.

Oh, but we are going to do much more than that, I think. Nokomis let her eyes fall on the tusk. Through a glazed stare, she spoke, My story will tell much about these people, the King’s Own People. Much that has not been told.

The girl furrowed her brow. These people? You speak like you are not of these people. Aren’t you of these people, Earth Mother?

No, my young carver, I am not. I am ah—oh, how shall I put this? Nokomis breathed sharply and blinked, trying to wave off the flood of emotion. The girl waited, a weak smile frozen in place. And her elder began, There is no other way to begin this, my child.

The Earth Mother paused a breath. Then she said it, I am a hostage.

The girl tilted her head. I don’t understand. You’re saying you’re not of the King’s Own People?

No. Your Earth Mother is not. It makes no sense, does it? The fair guardian of your civilization, the protector of these high shoals? That I am a hostage? Well, my child, perhaps you will come to understand.

The girl swallowed and tried to bring the discussion to the mission at hand. My Earth Mother, you said that you could see it in the ivory. Please tell me, what do you see?

Nokomis turned to gaze up at the patchwork darkness of skins lining the curved shape of her small domed hut. She began in a low breathy voice, I remember living at the world’s edge, in the far north, at the foot of the long ice wall. A village along cold streams flowing out from under the great ice. I was so young.

The girl looked down at the pointed carving nib in its handle, trying to imagine what to draw. The great ice?

Yes. It is a wall of ice and snow as high as the clouds. A vertical cliff, a jagged and uneasy thing, straight up to the sky. And straight down into the ground. Along the bottom are giant blocks of ice and broken slabs, fallen over time from high above. And crushed and tumbled boulders and earth, pushed up before the face of it. The whole thing is of some painful and uncertain temperament. It creaks and wails in the night. There are caves and deep cracks leading back into a cold dark labyrinth within. And cold, cold icy rivers run out of it over rocks and gravels. At night, it sings like spirit ghouls, crying from someplace dark and deep inside it.

Aeralae looked at her Earth Mother, afraid to breathe, her large almond eyes locked on Nokomis. The elder woman continued, I remember I was a child, a little thing. And I remember, there was so much fire and people running. Running and screaming. I can hear the screaming. Women screaming. I was so scared I cried with them out of terror, nothing more. That last night with them, there was nothing but terror in the world. Yes, these are my first memories in this human form. I was just a child, a dirty human baby. Crying in the night. I had seen maybe five warm seasons or four. So young and alone in the dark. The flames were everywhere, covering the huts, lighting the ice wall above us. And the screaming. That is what I remember most, I think.

Nokomis’s eyes fluttered closed, and she jerked her head hard to the right with a strained half expression, the left side of her face a rubbery sag. My mother? Where is my mother? I know she was holding me. She was there. And she fell, I think. It was so dark, and I was in the dirt and crying, and then she was gone. I tried to crawl, but strong arms picked me up from the mud and bundled me away. I was crying and scared. She covered me with a scratchy blanket and carried me rough, like I was a sack of pine cones.

Nokomis looked down from the ceiling to Aeralae. The girl was busy sketching curling flame forms along the curve of tusk. The image was