Terradon Prime: Mkutu

By J. Maxwell Cross

Imagine being ripped from a life of bad decisions and transposed on an alien world without any memory of your past. Our hero vanished in front of fellow investigators to discover a renovated body, the heart of a leopard, and insight that penetrates the soul.
On Terradon Prime, he crawls from a pond and encounters a feral race of inhabitants, adopting the title, the Mandagral. Meanwhile, on Earth, his forgotten life spins out of control under the investigation of his disappearance. The secret's out! Three hurdles stand between him and his future: finding his lost identity, his alter ego, and two all-too-familiar antagonists.
Disoriented and resentful, yet fearlessly, he begins his journey of self-discovery with the help of an oracle, who shares a kindred spirit. Will his mysterious guide help him to recover his memory without reproducing the same heartbreaking chain of tragic events that mislead him the first time? On top of all his challengers, he must resolve three intimate relationships. The mysterious and complex race against time is on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Jan 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781543762297

J. Maxwell Cross

Jonathan sat at the feet of the Old Timers, an unpublished group of Great Smoky Mountains Fabricators, as he like to call them. Faced with the challenge of performing for a live audience in Cades Cove, Tennessee, he mastered the art. As a world traveler, he retired in Japan.

Book preview

1

THE VANISHING

My whirling mind considers it odd.

To this land I’ve never trod.

How can my eyes see so well?

The dark night shadows they dispel.

Whose jungle is this? I do not know.

Herein my alien life is cast.

Tell me now, how long will it last?

-Jonathan M. Smith

A woman inserted a thin piece of metal into a desk drawer keyhole with one hand and a lock picking tool with the other. Like a thief, she probed until the six pins clicked in the correct o rder.

One problem solved.

The FBI badge clipped on her belt reflected a glimmer of sunlight from the third-story New Orleans window.

What’s under this mess?

With a slight shove, she uncovered a tattered journal. A sketch of a lady’s face with disheveled hair and eerie crimson eyes slipped out when she opened the cover.

Magnificent! His life-like artwork always impressed me, but I do not recognize this demonic-looking bottle of Louisiana pepper sauce. Is she an immigrant?

At the glimpse of a bloody smear, she stopped sifting the pages.

August 19th

With a nickname, Bonbon, and two aliases, I often hesitate when deciding which one my informant prefers. Rule number one—never use her real name. Today, she repulsed me, so I resorted to calling her Bebette, my little monster. Bebella, her other alias, means, my little doll.

Regardless of how I addressed her, the disciplinary toys she presented to me did not hinder her. Damn her one-person crusade to fix a society deficit of persuasive passion! In her mind, humanity exists without the ability to appreciate her larger-than-life responses.

Only the commonest yet most immoral of the torture devices she placed in my hands remain unused, an extra-large pair of black leather gloves. My attention turned to them during her calm moments when the dread trembled my bones. Like an electrical storm on the horizon, the fury within her threatened my end.

Aghast, she flinched back from the script as her thoughts raced.

I refuse to believe he would step into her trap.

August 20th

The touching part of our exchange never wavered. Yet, of all the reassurance she once offered, I miss her understanding. Let her help me find my way through the infuriating crowds.

Plus, those hypnotic eyes beckoned me louder than words. She cannot turn her deep-penetrating insight on herself. In hindsight, I long for either one of us to set personal boundaries. To my dismay, no matter how hard I try to avert her, she sides with her false spirit vice her devotion.

Too late, I realized her tortured conscience guides her on a tour of a bizarre realm. In her unhinged fantasy, she conspires with anyone she can manipulate to destroy those who injure her hypersensitive feelings. Still, I often empathize with my lover’s plight...

The mortified ten-year veteran of the Bureau clasp one hand over her mouth as she glanced away. Her palm grew hot from the forced exhale of her French pirate profanity.

Sacrebleu! Did my secret love for him blind me? What if he caught on and wrote about me too?

She lowered her head to conceal her blushed face and scanned down the rest of the page.

...Despite her distinctive beauty, eloquence, and emotional intellect, Bebelle boils in frustration at her own inability to inspire people to treat others with equality. If only those spells of adorable honesty might prevail, hope for us would anchor my wave tumbled life.

Today, for instance, her observations began with truly. In contrast, her psychotic breaks erupted like a slammed door to announce her defiance of me.

Like a bird feeding on a highway, the alert investigator’s eyes darted. Pale in the face, her gut wrenched as she scrutinized the familiar nameplate on her partner’s desk.

[Somewhere else]

My defiant instinct not to breathe overcame the agony of running out of air—for a minute and a half. On the verge of losing consciousness, however, my brain grasped at a false optimism and shared the desperate fallacy, One breath might save us.

The inescapable water rushed my vocal cords like an offensive gridiron lineman, triggering an immediate contraction around my larynx. I died, according to the glimpse of hell at the end of my collapsing tunnel vision.

The next thing I remember, I gagged up the terrifying mouthful of water from the virgin pond I crawled out of. To my surprise, a coarse tongue across my mouth and nose delivered me from a head rush.

Is this an illusion?

Weakened, I knelt on my hands and knees to allow my foggy mind to grapple with the vanished time.

Silt blurred my focus on a bizarre frog until the startled croaker slipped off a lily pad. I wiped my eyes in time to behold the brilliant foliage animate in an assortment of shimmering blooms. Every strand searched the breeze like tentacles.

Is this an illusion? I died, at least according to the glimpse hell at the end of my tunneled vision.

The warm draft began to dry my black mane.

Black mane! What the heck! What is this place?

Not quick enough for my comfort, my pupils adjusted to the faint light. Exhausted, I relaxed on the delicate moss. The natural bed revived my primal awareness. In the place of my clothes, hair, smooth as a mink covered much of my chiseled body. An astonishing bare six-pack abdomen crunched to lift my incredible torso over the glassy water.

Up to this point, who would complain about extraordinary physical fitness? Yet, like a scene from a nightmare, my horrific image startled me into a Herculean jump.

Of course, the domino effect followed when my head struck an overhead limb twice my height above the ground. While the throbbing subsided, I stumbled around, sightless, tripping over a cypress root. Annoyance set in as the recesses of my mind left nothing to ransack.

At first, I thought the sensation of ringing in my pointed ears would not stop. The hum, instead, came from a couple dozen insects forty meters away from me. Curiosity moved me to stroke my lobes. In every direction, tiny noises amplified. Far above me, the flutter of a hovering bird’s wings filled the air.

My beefed-up nostrils brought each airborne molecule to life.

Straightaway, I spied a jewel-crowned obelisk, which cast its long shadow on me. Intricate letters and symbols illuminated. The facets of this eighteen-thousand-carat gemstone sparkled with amber light. Two of the hieroglyphs brightened and dimmed with a perpetual rhythm, all the while humming with a mysterious purpose.

All fascination aside, the echoes of the alien night sidetracked me from the granite erection.

Hmm, unfamiliar creatures. What licked my face!

A twig broke and I spun around. My gape exposed the dim silhouette of an elegant feline form.

Like a conquering enemy, she vanquished the tears from her cheek with her tongue and stretched her sleek frame along the ground. Elbows to the ground, she retracted her five-inch claws. Instinct unfurled her graceful tail high above her raised hips. A comforting purr reverberated from the throat of this alluring half leopard. Incapable of reconnecting with her eyes, my hungry gaze fixed on her cleavage. More tempting than perfume, her scent aroused me.

A soft voice in my head spoke with a sultry tone.

What dominant eyes! You must be the Mandagral.

To my surprise, I owned this identity. My response lingered unspoken.

Lovely creature of the night, your presence begs me. Who are you?

Should title count, refer to me as Innocent One. Otherwise, I am Kiisu of the Mandragora. From this moment, consider me everything-you-need.

A mind reader, marvelous!

[On Earth]

August 21st

This is my deepest regret—my betrayed soul left me devoid of the truth. To compound the problem, my injury branded me an incompetent rescuer. Like a rabbit trapped in a crippling snare, she struggled in an uninterruptable panic.

All my pity for Bebette caused her to loathe me. Every intervention I contrived demanded a lie. A time came when only drunkenness calmed her. After she sobered up and began to detox, she blamed demons for her predicament.

Mindful of her reputation as a force for virtue, her followers accepted her misdirection. In futility, they rationalized how a priest might exorcise away the evil spirits.

Overwhelmed with uncontrollable sentiments, the agent’s thoughts leaped through the potential consequences her suspected confidant might face.

To her dismay, a flurry of activity surrounded her, so she avoided speaking to guard her compromised state. Unable to release the incomplete diary, she intended to read further, but a gruff male voice interrupted her.

What are you doing, Alexandra?

Sorry, but I’m going through his desk for clues to his disappearance, boss. What, however, in God’s creation, explains him vanishing in front of so many witnesses?

She drew her legs together and she tightened her stance.

One more entry...

August 22nd

Every pen stroke, each dab of cologne, the placement on my pillow next to hers before she awoke rivaled a Hallmark moment: Make me child-like, O Lord. This childish life, I cannot afford. A cursed life puts thorns in the heart. I pray, God, help me change. Please, my thoughts rearrange, from this pain let me depart.

Dear God, I must be naive.

The captain walked in causing her to crumple the innocent page.

Does his journal warrant such a choking grip?

Given no time to hide the diary, she closed the evidence with the same care a mother would cradle a baby.

As he extended his hand, she surrendered her world-shattering discovery.

In a careless rush, he thumbed through the entries. All the sudden, his jaw dropped, and bewilderment distorted his face. With a tilt of his head toward Alexandra, he scratched above his right ear.

Damn, he hooked up with some hottie. In any case, I can’t help but wonder about the call he received from the Skull Collector before he disappeared. Let’s check his recording machine.

The sly investigator diverted his attention.

Let’s pull up his cell phone history too.

Distracted, he tossed the tragic document in his inbox and motioned for her to follow him.

2

THE MANDRAGORA

[On Terradon Prime]

A vague recollection tried to break through for the briefest moment. This time I hoped my greeter, Kiisu, would capture my rogue thought, so I shot her an indirect gl ance.

Curiosity tilted her head, but she did not utter a word.

Don’t talk much, do you, Kiisu?

Undaunted, I surveyed my surroundings.

Are more natives hidden in the shadows?

With a wink and a smile, she nodded her head side to side.

Like a child discovering something new and exciting, I brushed her spots. She lifted her tail and committed my scent to memory with a whiff. A whispered prayer for self-control fled my mouth when she glided her slender, toned body face first, along my disrobed legs.

Give me strength.

Uninhibited, she thrust her tongue down the length of my exposed abdomen. Though I required no more temptation, she licked her lips, and swallowed the moisture still beaded on me. The full extent of my virility, now obvious, did not surprise her.

In the distance, hundreds of flying crawlies swept their wings together. With harmonious intent, they reverberated their chirps in an impromptu concert, inspired by a songbird’s haunting mating trill.

What do you call the melodic wonder warbling in the trees?

A Rucaberra. Along with her, the mystical fire cast by our twin moons enchants me, Mandagral. Accept them as you would embrace me, Waphoon and Sephoon, adorning the night.

What you perceive is not an enchantment. Those heaven-bound maidens covet your eye-catching figure.

Beware, your words border on blasphemy. Our planet’s royal blue orbs shelter the throne of our prime deity.

Now, I’m warned.

Neither worry, nor stop what you are doing. Where this is going seizes my interest.

Eager to gratify, I turned her back toward me.

Anticipation brightened her face as she gripped a gerzelnut tree.

Fifty enthusiastic minutes later, her leg tremors climaxed. Breathless exhaustion set in, not so much after the fourth, but after the fifth orgasm. My cramped hands released the horns strapped behind her slim tummy.

Unable to cuddle because my belly rumbled, I bent over. True to herself, she rolled to her side in the moss, moving her moist nipple to my lips.

My stomach’s complaints quieted as I suckled her swollen breasts. To the music of the night, we nestled as a gentle wind carried us on gossamer wings to the land of unconscious imagination.

Long before dawn, she licked the dried milk from my chin to wake me. Without warning, she darted off, coaxing me with a giggle.

Try to keep up.

Unbalanced at first, I caught on to the art of climbing and running with my claws extended. All the while, untold threats glimpsed from behind the trees as we leaped above the unpassable shrubbery. Slimy slithers, deep growls, chitters and guttural croaks swelled up from alarming silhouettes. Screeches preceded a muffled death groan as the sound of a distraught trudge ceased with a thud.

The towering emergent layer of the jungle burst to life with countless extra-terrestrial winged fowl, scattering from their canopy perches. From our vantage point, the panorama of a valley brought my greeter to a pause.

Our race is scattered among the villages in this region.

With a motion of her tail, a sense of deep adoration for landscape warmed her.

Take in the splendor of our treetop dens with their labyrinth of catwalks, framing our serene village, Leopardmura.

Like bright stars, glowstones illuminated the openings.

Isn’t the scenery beautiful?

What about perilous?

Kiisu’s roar chilled my spine, shaking the branches around us.

The Mandagral draws near.

Near and far, the villager’s bliss animated the serine countryside. The female population purred as their cubs frolicked in the intoxicating leonip plants. Out of nowhere, a cotton-like haze crept across the wilderness.

Despite my hyper alertness, the refuge thrived with no dangerous creatures in sight.

Who knew tranquility has coordinates? Tell me of your world, Kiisu.

Unspoiled, Terradon Prime exists in a natural balance. The deities allow us to feed on soulless creatures, except those the in the Jumanjang Expanse, our endangered creature preserve. Yet, this world is harsh when you’re still in cub years."

After a second glance, a question tilted my head.

What about your males? Did they go hunting?

The Chimeragor Nation invaded our territory millennia ago. With their massive size, they almost overpowered us. Poisoned wounds robbed our original Mandagrals of their victory.

All perished!

Yes.

The burnt flesh from the funeral pyre offends my nose.

This particular odor grieves my soul, Mandagral. The one you sense shares your origin. With respect to your observation, he dwells in the spirit realm.

Yes, one like me! His recent presence supports my theory. Your world adopted the language of my people, whoever they are.

My frustration at the unfairness of my situation caused me to scowl.

Sorry for the interruption. Did I arrive the same way as he did? This revelation may help me unearth who I am.

At the time of a Mandagral’s transcendence, we find another at the jeweled device. After the war, we discovered the first of your kind under its mysterious influence.

Her fallen face and slumped posture betrayed her burdened heart.

Tonight, my siblings remained to perform the Moon Binding Ritual. The Tipriet Ulna ushered him to the Spirits’ Domain.

Kiisu grieved as she wiped the droplets from her cheek.

The bitter sap of the bandadan leaf gagged me as I clinched the stem with my teeth. To no avail, I prayed the gusher from my face would muddy the trail home. In so doing, I might drag his mangled weight with ease.

My companion turned her head toward her recollections.

This evening we raced each other from his treetop den toward the sacred pool. Carefree, we intended to veer off the beaten soil at the possibility of a new stretch of wild-woods.

Still hurting, Kiisu tried to massage away a painful flashback.

My trembling legs defied me to take the longest journey home of my feral life. Like a beacon, the light of the pyre reassured my clouded gaze of the correct path on this damned, endless night. Now the tormenting glare lingers, an unwelcome reminder.

‘Heed your instincts,’ said my mommeo.

In my defiance, I ignored her. Regret tracks me now like wounded prey because I did not challenge your predecessor’s intentions.

Ah, the tears when I met you, I understand now, Kiisu. Please let me grieve with you.

After four exhausting hours, no relief consoled me.

The Innocent One shook her fist in the direction of her sisters.

Do not mourn, you both told me. Your duty is to the Obelisk and the Goddess. Return to the place where our Mandagral died.

My face broadcast my astonishment as I studied the rod emanating from the smoldering flames.

Kiisu grew annoyed with my distractable nature.

The rare metal attracts the high-voltage celestial conduits, originating from our moons. Like thunderous lightning, they jar the passage for the soul’s ascension.

She concluded her account abruptly, folding the necessary commentary. In the meantime, my kin dealt with my lover’s final ritual while I welcomed you so we might survive. Deprived of your species to propagate with, we would fade into history. To our advantage, we conceive in minutes and with every attempt.

So, I’m a father?

Ah, you mean, dradda, yes, I shall deliver your offspring to you in three cycles. Yet, for reasons outside our collective comprehension, your breed only impregnates us with the cute sort of felines.

The last hint of fantasy escaped my new world view—the only virile donor in a world of females.

Did you seduce me into captivity?

Would you distrust us, Mandagral? Born honest and free, we will treat you as our kindred, not a slave. Above all your concerns, you will not want for affection, stand as like an outsider, or go undernourished. Likewise, every living being, which walks, flies, tunnels or swims will approach you with reverence.

Swims! Your thick coats conceal gills, unlike me.

A genuine smile lit up my face. Your words bear the truth, Kiisu.

Mandagral, your perception serves you well.

The spiritual leader, my Kiisu, crossed her arms and spoke in a strict tone.

Deceit cannot hide on this world. Dark treachery carries the penalty of banishment, and in deplorable cases, death.

The concern splashed all over my face begged her to lighten the mood.

What if we make mistakes? Would you learn from them?

Hmm... I understand, relax. This circumstance should excite me like a bull in a cow pasture, but a desperate need to find answers tenses my gut. How did my predecessor die? How will I discover the Obelisk’s secret? How do the prehistoric Mandagrals differ from me?

Under a little tension, six-inch raptor-like claws slid out of their sheaths from my paws, sharper than any talon or fang. Freed from my strained muscles, they sheathed.

The banter of two bratty sisters drew my attention from the experiment.

Fraidy cat.

Don’t caterwaul, canoodler.

Dingy dreadlocks.

Snuffle snoot.

Loopy bumfuzzled doodler.

Squeegee noggin.

Tater breath.

Veggies! No way. How dare you say I’m a lousy hunter! You wombat-legged gob-smacker.

Make her stop, Mommeo!

The dread of an angry parent ended the name-calling and the cub pounced on my back.

Kitten pile-on. Hi, I’m Kita.

With a roar, I dove into the game. A sense of home calmed my anxious thoughts as dozens of Kita’s cohorts joined her.

My nature, to play with the young ones, aroused more questions about my vacant past.

For sanity’s sake, I tumbled around on the ground with the little rascals until I lost myself in their reality.

3

ONE FATHER, TWO WORLDS

[On Earth, at the missing detective’s home]

A wet haired girl on the threshold of bawling clung to her mother. What happened to d addy?

The devoted parent leaned toward the window to glimpse for her companion’s silhouette, but the vacant walkway yielded no news. From the edge of the cold bed, she draped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. No matter how entrenched, her husband always found a way to reassure her, until today.

The innocent child sank her head into her mother’s breasts.

Oh, sweetheart, I ache with you. Believe me, his life and mine are bound. God forbid, if he died, part of me would die with him. Listen, my heart still beats.

The caring mother embraced her daughter.

Such a smart dad as yours will find his way home. What’s more, he’s too important for the police to give up searching for him.

A handful of coco skinned boys with gumbo stained t-shirts hovered nearby. The products of a loving interracial marriage, they looked dissimilar in tone, but nonetheless determined, learning toughness from their fair-haired mother.

Now, off to bed with you all.

The otherwise stubborn children crawled into their bunk beds without argument and cried themselves to sleep.

At 10:30 p.m. a rat-a-tat at the door shattered the bleak silence. A plain-clothed Special Agent displayed his badge and braced his body for the worst reaction.

Mrs. Durant. Sorry to bother you this late but my investigation uncovered something strange. The staff stated he disappeared, in their view one second, ma’am, gone the next.

Next time, send his partner, Alexandra, to talk to me.

Without so much as a goodbye, she closed the door. On the television, a newscaster spoke in a factual voice.

Authorities report no leads in the string of serial murders, plaguing our city. The police discovered another headless woman in the canal this afternoon. Reports suggest the unidentified subject of their investigation keeps the skulls as trophies.

One victim, who escaped with hair too short to grasp, quoted her captor. ‘What got into your head?’ This makes the Skull Collector’s twelfth so far. Local authorities advise women to take all necessary precautions until they catch the perpetrator. In breaking news, an unnamed FBI agent investigating the incidents vanished. Updates will follow.

Up next, localized outbreaks of the pandemic appear in unaffected areas, while strict controls in the hardest hit cities allow people to go back to work as active cases decline. Researchers promise an antivirus as world leader’s share their countries findings.

The newscaster’s next announcement of a new immigration law faded into the background as Rachel walked over and glimpsed out the window. Beyond her sight, a menacing figure blended into the shrubbery.

[On Terradon Prime]

Kita brushed against my leg.

Wish us sweet dreams, Dradda.

The innocent cubs sprang on their unaware cozella bed and curled up, awaiting my best wishes.

With a content smile, I predicted their need.

Drift off into the fantasy of the hunt.

A yawn stretched Kita’s mouth while she talked.

Aww, my favorite dream.

From the railed platform, Kiisu’s tail beckoned her sisters.

This is Koshka, the comedian of the family, and Catalan, my tantalizing little sibling. Follow them to your treetop dwelling.

The feline’s erotic face rubs mirrored Kiisu’s at the sacred pond of my origin—the same ones who denied her attendance at the funeral earlier.

Both of you!

This project requires a quality control inspector. Come on, you will learn the way by the third attempt.

Right behind you, Koshka.

Toward the heavens, we zigzagged and spiraled.

Koshka, these suspended walkways and the breath-taking cottage view dismiss any doubt of your serenity, safe up here. Tell me, what do you call those insects, clustered like patches of daffodil hued throbbing light?

Night-flickers.

The child in me yearns to chase them.

Back inside, I gripped the cord strung to drape the glowstones. The encircling windows allowed a secure lookout in all directions around the hardwood trunk.

My jaw dropped as Catalan unfurled a king-sized sleeper frond with a gentle touch. Furry hides, the shade of dark plums, cushioned the circumference of the brandlebark den.

Koshka studied me to determine if she might draw out a more startled reaction.

To administer the last right of a kodobar beasts takes talent. First, you must invoke the sun and bathe the coarse hide in tannin acid... Here, handing me a leftover rawhide belt, spank me if I’m bad tonight.

Uninhibited, Koshka licked my fur clean while Catalan positioned her most desirable feature in my line of sight. On cue, I grasped the horns bound to the back of her waist. My escort’s purr surged, and her body vibrated. To balance herself against my advances, she tightened her grip on the scratched tree.

The bark grew back in rippled patterns from