War Of The Animals (Book 1): The Shut Face Of Thunder: War Of The Animals

War of

the Animals

Book 1: The Shut Face of Thunder

Jonathan DeCoteau

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2023 by Jonathan DeCoteau.

No part of this book, including its characters, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, audio, or mechanical, including photographing, recording, or by an information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real or fictitious persons or animals, living or dead, or to actual events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Animus Nor Books

waroftheanimals.com

Paperback ISBN 979-8-9885704-0-0

Ebook ISBN 979-8-9885704-1-7

Table of Contents

Tablet 1: The Rapsys

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Tablet 2: The War Of The Rulku

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Tablet 3: The War Of The Animals

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

For God and family

Other Books in Jonathan DeCoteau’s

War of the Animals Series

War of the Animals Book 2: Cry of the Gods

A generation after the events of The Shut Face of Thunder, Thraxis strikes. The anaconda queen resurrects long-dead species of dinosaurs to create an army that allows her to rule the seven continents of Animus like her great ancestors once did. Yet, Thraxis is not concerned only with power. The serpent queen issues a dire warning to the animal world: all animals must unite under her rule before the whale god King Blu attacks and kills them all. Thraxis confronts the whale god, a creature so powerful that none have seen him and survived. Just as the animals fight to overthrow Thraxis, the whale god breaches for the first time in thousands of years. War is inevitable.

War of the Animals Book 3: The Crown of Crowns

After the events of Cry Of The Gods, King Blu, the whale god, pronounces the sentence for the land animals: total annihilation. King Blu plans to make an ocean world in the land animals’ stead. A new generation of animal lords fights King Blu in a seemingly hopeless battle. Continent after continent falls to the whale god until a new revelation arises: King Blu is not the only god among the animals. The animal lords must race to resurrect a legendary deity to stand any chance of dethroning King Blu, an unbeatable god of death who sends storms, destruction, and tsunamis merely by breaching the waters. As the final war of the first generation of awakened animals rages, all of Animus hangs in the balance.

Coming in 2024:

War of the Animals Book 4: Azaz, King of Kings

In the years after The Great Awakening, a young cub witnesses human hunters kill his mother. The cub attacks and kills his mother’s murderers. Humans capture the surprisingly vicious cub, study and torture him. After a single act of mercy, the cub escapes. Vowing revenge, the grown bear leads the first assaults on humanity, defeating bear clan kings and humans alike until there is only one: Azaz, King of Kings.

PROLOGUE

The future is the past is the future, Snow Prophet, the ancient snowy owl of the great northern regions, scrawled on the holy tablets.

Never before had the animals written their tale—that of their rise, of mankind’s fall. Never before had it existed anywhere but in the rolling melodic songs of whales in twilight seas or in the cackles of geese flying overhead, towards the great rising sun. It was the song every awakened animal told its children. And it was more than a song. It was a warning. Be not proud, animals of the earth, it began. Every wing that soars falters; every leg that runs upon the earth one day becomes it. What falls, rises. What rises, falls. The future is the past is the future is the past…

TABLET 1:

THE RAPSYS

CHAPTER 1

Kywy-Tolyn

Nunavut, Canada

Moon Shadow shook the harshest of the white winds off with an afflicted whimper. Her paws—icicles lined with nails—winced in their impending numbness. Still, Moon Shadow ran forward. In the distant echo of dreams, she remembered what it was like to live in the world before the end of worlds. An illegally smuggled Arctic white wolf, Moon Shadow knew the love of her former masters before the new age. The tiniest of the humans reminded her of her own pups, tiny balls of white fur that she hoped to coddle until it was their time to hunt. Yet, the same masters took her pups from her, putting them up for the highest bidder to steal. Even after seeing more of the great North American continent than she had ever dreamed of in her life of relative leisure, Moon Shadow had seen no sign of her pups. She wondered if they were now grown with pups of their own. In her heart, she knew it was unlikely that they survived The Rapsys, or Opening of Eyes, as the street dogs of her former town rather poetically referred to this massive change that shook the very marrow of their bones.

While Moon Shadow considered herself a peaceful wolf by nature, a woowen-ken, or one who walks with nature, she had killed. Before her blue eyes locked on their prey, a rather pushy raccoon that threatened her masters with snarls and claws had its neck torn asunder in her mighty jaws. The occasional wild cat that crossed her path had fared no better. But when Moon Shadow killed, it was never in fear. It was always with purpose. The Harkening, or Great Slaughter, had come upon her with more robustness than the pups that ever so briefly sought her milk before they disappeared. Trusted masters everywhere turned their pets into authorities, and from even the most distant howls, whinnies, neighs, and hisses, Moon Shadow knew what the rulku, or killers, were capable of. Her eyes met her master’s and even as their little ones cried, Moon Shadow knew. Her fur stood on end, and in a brief moment, she saw the eyes of the rulku in her masters. She snarled, biting hands that no longer fed her. One of her former masters, the mother, no less—the one who, unlike her, had not lost her pups—screamed at the authorities. They turned their sights on her. Moon Shadow ran through the killing fields, making eye contact with the vacuous eyes of a falling prize filly as it crashed to the earth. She saw the ravens and vultures circling before flying off. And she heard the thunder of the crackling sticks the rulku held before she felt one of her legs give out in wordless pain beneath her. Had the filly not fallen when it did, had the whimpering, betrayed house dogs not collapsed behind her, the rulku would have killed Moon Shadow then and there.

But even the least awakened of the street dogs knew of the term Ozu, the great binding spirit that held all of nature at balance, deciding which dog lived and which dog died. Ozu was with Moon Shadow that coldest of nights, and so she ran, gaining what food and wisdom she could from the edge of old towns that were death to any dog that dared enter unawares. The street dogs spoke, in vibrant, guttural growls, of an army forming in The Great White North. They spoke of how The Rapsys came with the winds of the tundra, of how the wolves, deer, eagles, and hawks, were gathering, along with the sea creatures, the otters and whales, of how all the animals were gathering, in a secret meeting with a strange creature, Nurvlyn, a rulku with eyes like theirs and the wisdom of the flowers. Moon Shadow did not know if this was but legend, but she was the only street dog with enough youth and stamina for such a quest, the only one who was not starving, taking what meat from the rulku bones she could feast on. Her barks had a rhythm to them, the other street dogs said, that showed wisdom born of pain and experience. And so, Moon Shadow kept running, the first American dog to reach the wilds of the great northern tundra, asking always, how much farther to Nurvlyn, how much farther must she go in the Arctic snow.

Kywy-Tolyn

Nunavut, Canada

Sky Death circled over the near frozen animal half-buried in the snow. His sense of smell was acute, but lately his sense of hearing had opened up as never before. Bathing in the sun of the South, Sky Death, an old turkey vulture with a wrinkled red head, a powerful, blood-stained beak, and claws of iron, had felt the same inkling he imagined drove this domestic, or sss-hress, as his kind called it, into the wild. After flying over two hundred miles from carrion that littered the northern climes, Sky Death had been grazed by bullets smattering his right wing, an easy target with a span of over three feet. The old vulture had a knack for survival, however, and lived to feed on the bodies of the rulku, as vultures called humans, to avenge himself. His committee of vultures, in the new speak, nominated him to leave their kettle to seek out answers as he entered his twenty-fourth hunting season, as vultures now counted time, and thus would not be able to live up to his fearsome name much longer.

In slow and steady circles, Sky Death descended upon the mass of fur, camouflaged as it was in the white of the snow. His nostrils flared and his beak readied, but the moving to and fro of the rib cage of the sss-hress kept him at a distance. Sky Death had a knack for finding the freshest kills, but until what he heard other animals call The Harkening, he had never made a fresh kill. The men his kettle had surrounded had been the first. Two wayward bullets later, Sky Death had fed enough to know that these rulku were still more dangerous than any prey he’d ever seen.

A quick, jolting growl, and the sss-hress was up on its legs, its teeth bared as it readied itself to pounce.

Sky Death spread his wings to their full span and hissed, vomiting parts of men at the wolf the way all turkey vultures vomited when threatened. Just as quickly as this defense tactic kicked in, the instinct left Sky Death and he and the poised sss-hress stood facing each other, circling, ready to pounce.

For the first time in millennia, the turkey vulture did not flee, and the Arctic wolf did not pounce. The two stared at each other, arching and cocking their heads, trying to find a common language.

Moon Shadow looked over the vulture’s spittle, and instantly Moon Shadow and Sky Death had a common alphabet: their dread of mankind.

There is a meeting of all animals of the North, Sky Death said in cackles and hisses.

Sky Death scratched with a claw at the earth, trying to draw a line to illustrate his point.

In a moment, however, the nanotechnology that linked the two once fearsome rivals synchronized. A quick, makeshift language, the Osine, formed. It was unfamiliar to either animal, yet they understood, as if on a genetic level.

"The rulku, Moon Shadow said, have betrayed us. They have killing fields filled with the bones of trusted companions, all laid to waste, slaughtered not for food but for wrath."

Sky Death balanced his head to show that he was not surprised. "I have flown more miles than a sss-hress, than a rulku animal, can run, he said. It’s the same everywhere across the continent. After the great change, animal turned on human and human upon animal, and a great annihilation has begun. I have been chosen from my kettle—"

—And I from my pack. But I don’t know where I’m going. I just feel drawn north.

In the midst of the snow, a clan of brown bears growled and tore through the brush. Sky Death motioned with a wing towards the herds upon herds of variegated animal species on the same trek.

Nurvlyn, Sky Death said, as you call him, the great wizard of the North. He has summoned us all to meet. The birds of the air are chirping. War is at hand.

Who is this Nurvlyn? Moon Shadow asked. Why does he hold such power?

"He was one of them, one of the hress, one of the rulku, Sky Death hissed out, fluttering his wings for emphasis, but now is part of everything—part man, part ape, part tree, part earth, part sky. He knows of the magic of the rulku, and he knows how to wield it against them."

"But a rulku helping us? Who is to say it’s not another slaughter?"

Sky Death drew in a deep breath and thought the question over. To beat the enemy, we must first know the enemy, he said, with another flutter of his wings. If he offers us warmth and food and wisdom, I say we have little choice if we are to win the war ahead.

Moon Shadow’s eyes gazed momentarily upon the snow, as if in assent. Come now, Sky Death said. Before you join us, you must eat.

Moon Shadow stared ahead and then said, in a stream of barks, But what can I eat now, now that I know what it means to see so many animals killed?

"Rulku. The passing bears killed a few of the human killing gangs." Moon Shadow shook her mane in revulsion.

It is a nourishing food, Sky Death said. "And the rulku would do the same to us. You must eat. You must survive. Follow me. I will lead you to the kill. We will eat. Then we will join the bears. We will head north. We will find Nurvlyn. And in him, we will find either life or death."

"Ozu," Moon Shadow said.

Yes. May The Great Balance guide us all, Sky Death said.

With that, Sky Death stretched his wings and took to the air. Moon Shadow, still pining for meat she had not feasted on in days, ran after the turkey vulture—behind the clan of bears, farther north than she had ever run.

CHAPTER 2

Zukul-Ryle

Washington, D.C., USA

The woodsman, Hunter Sgt. Rigel Fowler, stood covered in a myriad of brown skins and furs over his uniform, checkered with blood. His ancestry was deep and covered every continent—part Inuit, part Passamaquoddy, part Jewish combat soldier. He had seen the largest rhinos of the Savannah fall beneath him. He had tracked a mountain lion who had at least thirty kills to its name to the top of an enclave in British Columbia and killed the lion and its cubs. In another age, the civilized would think Rigel Fowler barbaric, with his long, black mane and face full of claw scratches and scars. In some ways, he was a throwback to ages of colonial eras long since consigned to dusty history tomes or to Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales. Instead, the media now heralded his exploits, which were thought to have saved well over one-hundred human lives. Still, deep down, Fowler knew why he decorated himself in skins and furs: not to celebrate his predatory instincts, but to remind himself of the price of this slaughter, of all the lives that he took.

The Little Kitsissut scientists, led by Dr. Ukula Sifa, looked out of place next to the killer, covering their noses at the smell of blood.

Hunter General Wade Brigand, Hunter Sgt. Fowler’s commander and the man behind the euthanizing of North American animal populations, made the introductions. Brigand was a lanky, grizzled soldier of mixed ancestry, descended from proud Ashanti warriors turned slaves turned soldiers in the American Civil War and ancient Celtic fighters who killed more than a few Roman legionnaires.

Dr. Sifa, Hunter General Brigand said, is here to brief us on the latest research. I thought it might be useful for the good doctor to meet an actual hunter out in the fields. Perhaps each of you can give me some insight into why we haven’t put these rabid animals down and ended this by now.

Partly because, Dr. Sifa said, these animals are not rabid. They are genetically enhanced. The signals we sent to the nanobots to shut down killed far less of the animals than we thought. After the first wave of deaths, others survived. It took just over a generation for entire populations to adapt. In some of the young in Greenland and in the Congo, we see signs that nanotechnology has made permanent alterations at a cellular level. In short, it reproduces itself in the next generation, spreading much like a virus does.

How many animals are now infected? Brigand asked.

Satellites suggested untold millions six weeks ago, Dr. Sifa said. Their populations have found ways to block our tagging systems, so we can’t be sure. Every continent has several populations of intelligent animals.

What of the antidote? the hunter general asked Fowler.

Fowler shook his head. It’s useless, he said. These animals are here to stay.

Dr. Okada, another task force expert taken from civilian life, shook his head. That can’t be, he insisted. Our studies have proven conclusive. The solution neutralizes the nanotechnology, blocking its ability to communicate with neural receptors.

Have the animal populations shown any change in behavior? Brigand asked Fowler.

Fowler shook his head a second time. Let me ask you something, doctor, he said to Dr. Okada. What population of animals did you test your potion on?

First generation contaminated animals and their offspring, Dr. Okada said. Bears, chimpanzees, dogs, cats—at least a dozen different species.

I can tell you this, doctor, Fowler said. The animals in the wild are immune.

Brigand shook his head. I guess we have little choice. We’ll have to increase the euthanizing programs across the continent.

Fowler shook his head. With all due respect, sir, he said, the animals have spread word of your killing fields.

Spread the word? How could that be?

Language, Fowler said. Different species can communicate with each other. I don’t know how, but they can.

Impossible, the hunter general said.

Actually, yes and no, Dr. Dana Kahr said.

She circled around in her chair until she faced the hunter general directly. Hunter general, she added. You, of all people, should appreciate the efficiency of the original design. Originally, we were hoping to trap pockets of terrorist cells by using their own animal populations against them. In the event that soldiers needed to communicate, we needed to test human subjects as well. These subjects would facilitate communication through the groups by establishing a rudimentary language. In short, the human would serve as the conduit until nanotechnology could adapt and allow animals to understand for themselves.

This technology compromises humans too? Brigand asked.

Dr. Kahr shook her head. Not all. It doesn’t affect most humans it comes into contact with, she said, but a select few have a blood chemistry unique enough for the nanotechnology to work. We found one such subject in Little Kitsissut. My former subordinate, Nathan Trola.

Where is he?

Apparently, he adapted to the cold of the inner island, Dr. Kahr said. He’s unaccounted for. But if there is any communication going on, he is the key.

So, if we kill him, all of this stops? Hunter General Brigand asked. Kind of like taking out the queen bee?

New populations won’t be able to communicate until the nanotechnology evolves sufficiently, Dr. Kahr replied. Something that complex should take years, but we see signs already.

So why haven’t we tracked this Nathan Trola yet? Brigand asked.

He’s rendered himself untraceable by our systems, Dr. Kahr said. What we need is another subject with the same type of blood chemistry, someone who can also take the nanotechnology into the body and survive.

Dr. Kahr nodded at Hunter Sgt. Rigel Fowler.

He’s the best soldier I have on the front, doctor, and you want me to risk his death for a science experiment?

If he survives, Dr. Sifa said, he’ll be able to communicate with Trola and with the animals. He’ll be able to hunt Trola and bring this to an end before the inevitable.

Which is?

Extinction, Dr. Okada said. With entire populations of animals fully genetically modified, humanity wouldn’t stand a chance. We’d be at war with the entire planet.

We can slaughter the beasts first, Brigand said, but even as he spoke the words, his voice broke.

Hasn’t mankind already visited enough death upon these animals? Dr. Kahr asked. Finding and killing Nathan Trola would mean saving not just countless human lives but countless animal lives too.

Brigand shot a glance at Hunter Sgt. Fowler. What do you say?

Fowler shut his eyes. Give me a night to think it over.

Brigand nodded and got up. The doctors rose as well. As they talked about the timetable for the surgery, Fowler stared ahead, vacantly. He had killed more animals than he’d ever hoped necessary. Perhaps now, he thought, glancing at the furs that decorated him, he could atone to the animals; perhaps, he could give life back.

Kywy-Tolyn

Nunavut, Canada

Moon Shadow and Sky Death were the last two to join the great council of the North. Surrounding them in a vast cavern were families of otters, foxes, polar bears, eagles, mountain lions, wolves, muskrat, and mice. Everywhere Moon Shadow’s snowy white head looked, there was another creature flying overhead and scurrying underfoot. In the middle, like some Buddha of old, sat a wild man, with golden antlers, covered in what looked to be plant-based fibers, with long scraggly brown hair and eyes of ethereal blue. Swarms of nanobots circled above him, as if on guard. Dirt covered different parts of his body as the man ate of a strange nectar and water before speaking.

Nurvlyn, a bobcat hissed out.

That’s the great wizard of the North? Moon Shadow asked.

I’ve never set eyes on him, Sky Death cackled back.

Nurvlyn closed his eyes for a moment, meditating. When he opened them again, his eyes glowed brightly, like those of the animals before him.

Welcome, friends of nature, he said. I hope that you have had time to enjoy the nectar the bees provided us and the fresh water put out before you. I only wish our reason for meeting could be more fortuitous.

"The rulku slaughter us, even our pups," Moon Shadow called out.

Our people starve, White Claw, king of the polar bears, said. The man beasts force us from even their food graves, where we feasted before.

The killing fields go from one end of the horizon to the other, Dasu, lord of the mountain lions, said. Never have I seen so many cats laid to waste.

But why? Pale Ghost, the leader of the mice, asked. "We were one with Ozu, the great law of Creation. Now, we are flekus, an abomination. We are like the man beasts with poisoned eyes."

We have ourselves to blame, Sky Death said. "For far too long have we allowed the man beasts, the rulku, the true abominations, to take advantage of us. For far too long have they destroyed our homes and polluted our skies. Now they have attacked our very essence and turned us against Mother Nature herself."

Is it too late to reverse this curse? Thunder Killer, lord of the bald eagles, asked.

I’m afraid so, Nurvlyn said. "My former kind, the rulku, uses magic they cannot undo. They act with abandon, as if they rule over the mighty lords of the council themselves. It is not right. It is not Ozu. And I left my kind because I am convinced that they will not stop until they kill the entire Earth. They are like children by the river’s edge, skipping in the water until the current eats them whole."

There was a long pause before Crimson Fang, leader of the coyotes, spoke. "For a long time has animal hunted animal. Now, my pack howls in vengeance. Animal must hunt rulku."

The animals turned to Nurvlyn, who again closed his eyes and meditated. I wish I had a simple answer, he said. "I must meet with Methuselah, the wisest of all living things, for advice. But if you seek my counsel, I would say that Crimson Fang is right. The rulku do not respect Ozu. They only respond to force. But they are cunning killers. To stand up to their magic, you need to stand united. Animal must no longer feast on animal. Instead, you must find a common law, and you must put your differences aside. Like the rulku, you must form armies, and you must be prepared to fight until the death. But as when you stalk your prey, timing makes the difference between making a kill and being killed. If you allow the rulku to convene, unchallenged, at any point, they will annihilate you and this Earth."

The animals sighed heavily. It is not in our nature to kill just to kill, Pale Ghost said.

It must be, Nurvlyn said. "I will counsel you as I can, but this is your fight. My advice to you is to mark your territories, to start by ending the killing fields and driving the rulku back. They don’t do as well in the North, so that would be a good place to start. You must speak together to form strategies for attack. And you must reach out to animals the world over. Only if animals stand united will you take back the Earth."

Nurvlyn speaks true, Thunder Killer said. "The rulku are as numerous as ant colonies on a hill, and we must protect those who cannot protect themselves. That is why, first, we must have a law for these times, and that law must stand, under punishment of death to all violators. And first among that law is that animals must respect other animals."

Nurvlyn wrote, etching the laws on the stone wall of the cavern, that all might see.

The Law of Ozu

1. No animal is above any other animal. Every animal shall have a voice.

2. Animal must not kill animal. Plants must be eaten. Only rulku meat is allowed.

3. In times of war, the great kings and queens of the animals are the rulers of their clans. Every clan has a vote under the law. No animal lord is greater than any other.

4. War is declared only when the majority of the lords say so. All other matters are decided by the council.

5. No animal shall render any extinct, not even rulku.

We will make a copy of these laws for each of your clans, Nurvlyn said. "Now, I must go to Methuselah. I must leave you to decide upon your first attack. My advice to you is to make a statement. In your first attack, all rulku must die."

Silver Snake, the otter king, shook his head. I am afraid of where this line of thinking will take us, he said. Still, this is a river whose current already has us by the neck, and there is nowhere else for us to go.

The animals chirped, growled, and hissed in assent. Then the talk of strategy began.

CHAPTER 3

Zukul-Ryle

Washington, D.C., USA

Fowler sat out by the arboretum, taking in the silence of the trees. Back in civilian garb, he looked among the flowers, out past his property, to the great woods beyond. He wondered how it came to this: how humanity could be given so much and mess it up so badly. To this day, politicians failed to even prioritize legislation on the environment, failed to take the massive steps needed to care for their greatest prize. If the environment were a stock portfolio amassing incremental wealth, it would be checked more frequently than the welfare of the creatures who depended upon humanity for their very survival. And here Fowler was, a soldier, one able to provide for his family, killing the very creatures that intrigued him as a boy. In his younger years on the reservation, Fowler earned his name by studying the migratory patterns of all kinds of wildlife, watching real-life documentaries unfolding before his unwavering eyes. And he could hunt with the best of them, almost as if he knew what the animals were thinking. Now, all these years later, he had no idea, so trapped was he between his roles of hunter, soldier, and nature lover.

So consumed was Fowler with studying the surrounding animals, those that as of yet showed no sign of the coming