by Luke Norris
In truth, he did feel afraid. There were great risks. On the ship, the hibernation process would have been induced. Here, in this uncontrolled environment, with just the cold temperatures and rest to trigger the biochemical implants, it took time, weeks. It was risky, so many variables that could lead to failure. In theory, the implants alone enabled cryogenic sleep, and the ships apparatus was purely for monitoring purposes. So this audacious plan Verity had convinced him of should work.
“Hey you!” she shoved him, “what’s that smirk?”
“I still have to laugh at the irony that we are about to implement Yarn’s plan. My sworn enemy will ultimately be responsible for our salvation.”
“Should never have happened in the first place.” Verity shuddered remembering the crushing feeling of having to conceal her identity to Yarn’s crew and being a party to their depraved dehumanizing behavior.
“Soon enough we’ll be on our way back to your home planet,” Oliver hesitated, “I have to admit, I’m a little nervous to meet your parents.” He looked down to see a small smile appear as she hit him on the chest. Verity had helped Oliver heal. She had replaced revenge with love. Their life was intertwined in such a unique way Oliver couldn’t imagine it without her now.
“Oliver we’ve been over the procedure a thousand times.” Ponsy concentrated on pouring the last bag of salt between the outer and inner sarcophagus layers. “Once you have both become inert I will move you to the sarcophaguses. We will do the final moisture removal and check the seals. We have been doing spot checks in this location for three years Cougar, and it doesn’t get above freezing very often, so there is not much moisture in the air anyway!”
“Even at this altitude the oxygen in the air would cause us to wake,” Oliver said, “so the lid seal has to be perfect.” He ran his finger along the grooves in the granite lid where it would make the seal.
“I feel so vulnerable in this state,” Oliver said. He knew his own voice must sound slow and drunk to his friend. Ponsy’s movements looked as if they were in hyper-time, or boosting as Yarn had called it. But it was Oliver who was operating at slow speed. “In fact, we would be completely helpless should an enemy find us while our bodies are in slow-time.”
“Fortunately you have the most capable, and lethal, man on the planet guarding you here.”
“Second most capable,” Oliver corrected, with a wiry smile. “Where’s Ver?”
“Sleeping again,” Ponsy said, supporting Oliver as he sat and handed him a drinking flask. “She’s been sleeping longer,” he looked at his friend, “and at more frequent intervals. More than sixteen hours a day now.”
Oliver felt sleep overcoming him also. He could not stand for long periods without feeling his muscles aching and drained of energy. He took a sip “Blah! Damn this still tastes like stormwater.” His diet consisted purely of the infused fluids Verity had concocted. “Maybe this is responsible for the crazy dreams I am having.” Sometimes Oliver needed several minutes after waking to clear his mind and discern what was real. Mostly he dreamed of Verity, and the life of peace they had crafted for themselves and the planet’s inhabitants, not the nightmarish dreams and memories that had plagued him in the ship the first time he woke.
“I think it won’t be long now, my friend.” Oliver held Ponsy’s gaze then reached out his arm and took Ponsy’s hand. To Oliver, his friend’s movements were lightning fast, although Ponsy was operating at normal speed. When he held his friend’s hand for what felt like a brief moment, to Ponsy, it must have been minutes. “It’s time. Lay me beside her!”
The large driver lifted Oliver gently onto the gurney he had prepared. “Live well, Cougar!” He smiled. “Thank you for my second life.” Ponsy let tears roll freely down his check.
“Hopefully your descendants will be a little better looking than you,” Oliver replied, “if they are to be the first face that I see when we wake. Live well Ponsy!”
Oliver and Verity’s sleeping patterns had synchronized somewhat, so they were able to spend their waking moments with each other.
Their conversations became less and less in between sleep intervals until Oliver knew there would not be any more words spoken between them, probably for the next one hundred and fifty years.
“Sleep well, my heart!” Oliver whispered. In response, he felt a faint squeeze of his hand from Verity. He relaxed, there was nothing more to do, nothing to arrange. He stopped fighting the urge to sleep and let his mind go. A peaceful, and very deep slumber overtook him in moments.
Oliver would not wake again for five hundred years.
THE END OF
Book One of PLANET WARS
TIMEWALKER
Thank you very much for reading Timewalker, book one of the Planet Wars series.
Here is an excerpt from the first chapter of book two in the Planet Wars series, which is planned to be released in October 2018.
The inscription was worn and carved in a simple font. Almost as if some monk had scratched at the wall as an afterthought. As Shael looked closer at the small letters, she realized not all of the text was in the ancient Highland tongue. It appeared to be repeated in another language which looked entirely alien, unlike any foreign, or ancient languages she had studied.
Targon could probably decipher most of the Highland script, the old man could do it in his sleep. Perhaps this would act as a key to crack this other strange alphabet. Although what use would that bring, when nothing else had been found with this language. Still, the prospect had her archeologist brain ecstatic. This little find felt like an anomaly, in comparison to the opulence and art in the monastery, more human. Maybe it would give insight to the daily life of the Monks who once lived here.
Back in the city, Shael had spent countless hours with the old man examining documents of the period pre first epoch. She felt slightly ashamed that she could only read a few of the words. Something about monks being the guardians of sleepers, something about waking up. Probably referring monks who fell asleep on guard duty. It must have been a boring job. What enemies would ever want travel here, to such a remote location? There was nothing to be claimed here, except snow, ice, and frozen corpses of three-hundred-year-old monks. The other archaeologists had already exhumed several mummified bodies in and around the monastery proper.
It was obvious to Shael that the others did not value her expertise. They treated her like she was young, fresh out of school. She could show half of these fakes a thing or two. But did she have to go and scream when she saw her first mummy? She’d acted like a frightened child, in front of the others. Damn, that had not helped her. Maybe they were right. She was a scientist, she needed to act like one.
She felt the glyphs under her fingers. These words sounded a little like her own family crest. ‘Wake the sleeper within’. A whimsical phrase, about taking life head-on, not sitting back and letting it happen to you. The mantra Shael lived by. It was tradition in her family for the oldest child of each generation to get the tattoo under the left arm beside the armpit. Silly? Yes. But most traditions were silly if you really analyzed them. She kind of liked it. She had told her father when she was twelve, she would never get that tattoo. But there was something comforting about a family ethos, something bigger than the circumstances you found yourself in. Who knows maybe she would get it one day.
Shael was indeed descended from highlanders, as her startling yellow eyes betrayed. A trait not commonly seen, but Targon had assured her this was a genetic trait shared among the highlanders before the Unification War. But the yellow eyes had been a point difference growing up, making school a difficult time for her socially. She had found acceptance in the books. It wasn’t all that bad, probably why she’d been driven to archaeology and graduated so young.
Perhaps I was descended from the poor sods who froze their butts off on this guard tower all those centuries ago. she thought jokingly, here I am freezing my butt off on the same tower. Why would some monk write a mantra like ‘Wake the sleeper within!’? May
be it was the final straw from some poor monk who’d had enough of freezing his butt off here and carved these words before making the pilgrimage to other parts of the continent. She couldn’t blame him. In fact, what had kept these people living here so long was a mystery. Evidence suggested they were still here after the first epoch. From the unification until the first epoch was many generations.
Shael carefully worked the stone free, that had the inscription on it. The others on the team wouldn’t care about some stone in the guard tower. And she could take it to Targon, perhaps he could tell her more.
Her chisel found some purchase on one side of the bricks, which allowed her to lever it outwards. Shael always felt a wave of nostalgia when handling ancient artifacts. She tried to put herself in the shoes of the monk who had made the inscription. Perhaps this stone had not been touched by another soul since then, all those centuries ago. It was as if she could momentarily reach through time and connect with them.
After prying at the stone for some time, it finally wriggled free. Air sucked in rapidly through the hole it had left. The hole? There was a cavity behind this wall? It faced the mountain, so Shael assumed there was just bedrock.
Suddenly the stones above where her brick had been had no support, and they collapsed downwards. Next, a whole portion of the wall crumbled away, causing her to jump back, and leaving a pile of stones at her feet. She had pulled out some sort of keystone. A gaping black human-sized hole stared back at her.
Shael stood, momentarily stunned, before excitedly fumbling in her backpack for her flashlight. She shined the light inside, to try and get a better view. The torch was pathetic, and the light was swallowed up by the ancient darkness.
Shael squeezed her shoulders through the hole and was shocked to see that there were stone stairs, leading downwards. This doorway had been purposely covered over. An escape route for soldiers? That made no sense. Who would ever attack this monastery? There was no reason to.
Shael’s curiosity was aroused. Almost like an omen, a shadow swept across the guard tower. Was it the first eclipse already? Her torch was the only light source, and her breath steamed in the artificial light. She clambered completely through. The ice-cold stone made her fingers ache through the thin gloves. The darkness was almost palpable inside, it seemed to eat the light. The cold air was dry as a bone and had an unusual musky odor.
She gasped audibly, as her torchlight landed on the narrow stairwell wall. Beautiful fresco paintings in vivid color greeted her. This was a complete contrast to the small barren guard room where she had just been.
The frescos told stories. Icicles made them sparkle slightly in the torchlight. What was this place? Many of the characters in the paintings had yellow eyes like her own. Made sense, all the people of this region would have done back then. Back then? Did she really believe this was from the time of the unification war? The eyes seemed to be watching her, following, egging her forward.
She placed a hand on one of the images, a beautiful slender Highland woman, standing beside an imposing figure of a man. He did not look Highland descent. He was tall, red tussock colored skin. Strange. But why did Shael feel an affinity for these people?
She followed the curved stair down, no more than a few meters before it opened into a chamber.
The blackness swallowed her lamplight in the small room, although it was not more than ten meters across. The torch beam came to rest on two enormous stone slabs in the center of the room. Apart from those it was bare. What was she expecting, a treasure room?
Breathing this dry air was hard. Her foot crunched on something. Salt crystals on the ground. What was this place? Maybe this was a weapons room, for the guards who once manned this outpost, and those boxes weapons caches.
Was that relief carvings on the side? Yes, there were carvings in the stone, beautifully detailed. More than beautiful. She had never seen the like from any epoch. These were regal. Magical.
She moved into the room and walked over to inspect a little closer. Her heart was beating faster, as she ran the light along the top, following the contours. A gasp escaped her, as a beautifully carved female face came into view. Delicate features with large eyes. The iris’s were holes, which gave the impression of the stone eyes moving with Shael. Upon the head...a crown?
As she examined the side more carefully, she could see they were carved straight into the solid stone. Intricate figures, stories. A group of figures depicted walking in the jungle, wearing unusual clothing. A strange man-made object in a river. There were depictions of life in the Highland villages. She recognized the Highland insignia of the Hajir clan from her studies with her Targon. The crossed reeds. Hajir clan? That dates back to before the unification war, more than five hundred years ago. Historical literature about that period was very limited, a dark age. Much knowledge was destroyed a hundred years later in the Skalien Wars of the first epoch.
But there was no denying the period of enlightenment that came after the unification of clans and lowlanders. Huge technological advancements were made in a very short period. The first universities were said to have been founded then.
The cause of the enlightenment at the beginning of the first epoch was still a topic of speculation and baffled many scholars. Of course, the folktales attributed this to King Oliver and Queen Verity, like every other unlikely thing that occurred around that time. It was human nature to exaggerate stories, turn ordinary people into something superhuman. It was frustrating as a scientist to have to sift through the mysticism and distill the truth.
What had she stumbled upon here? Was this important? This chamber certainly looked as if it hadn’t been entered for a very long time. Whatever it was, it was Shael’s discovery. She had to keep it secret from the others.
Finely engraved lines in the rock. Her heart fluttered. Wait, was that line carved or… A thin joining line all the way around, sealed so perfectly that she almost missed it. She couldn’t even squeeze her fingernail in the gab. Such craftsmanship. She followed the seam to the end, then as it turned the corner it sloped on a thirty-degree angle downward. This happened on both ends. Yes, it was a lid. The weight on one side would let it slide open of its own accord. Yet it didn’t.
There must be a kind of linchpin holding the lid in place. The lid, was she really saying that?
Keep calm Shael, she told herself. But how could she possibly stay calm, in the face of something exciting like this? An archaeologists dream.
This couldn’t be some kind of tomb. A sarcophagus? No, that made no sense. What kind of a Monk, in a remote monastery would have such an elaborate grave? In a guard tower no less. But then there was the full sized woman carved meticulously on the top, what was that about? She was wearing a crown. Kings and Queens were a concept from a distant past, the last known ones, supposedly, being Oliver and Verity More than half a millennia ago. But if Shael were to imagine what a Queen might look like it was the woman on this stone box.
There were some inscriptions along the sides of the lid. Shael secretly considered herself something of an expert in ancient languages, she would never claim such a thing to Targon of course. His knowledge of the old texts would put her to shame, although he was far too humble to ever acknowledge such a thing.
She could indeed recognize some of the characters, but the words together were gibberish, making no sense. There were also inscriptions that looked completely alien. Letters and characters, like none she had ever seen before. She should have paid more attention in Targon’s lessons—were he here now.
Shael concentrated, and some words began to take shape, but they were nonsensical together. Chances are, she had the translation wrong, but it looked like, ‘Wake the sleepers’ and there was a date. The date was confusing. It was ‘one hundred and fifty’. Historical dates were taken retrospectively from the second epoch. But this would, of course, be according to the ancient Wasat Calendar, and have nothing to do with the modern calendar. Which would put the date, her brow furrowed in consternation, soon a
fter the first epoch. That can’t be right, she thought as she scanned the walls with her light, this is older. That date didn’t correspond with anything else about the art, or architecture in this place. Everything else screamed that it was from the time of the unification war, or dare she say it, even older.
Shael ran her fingertips along the engraving. There, in the stone carved hand of the woman was a handle, as if she were offering it to Shael to take. Well, who was she to deny this regal lady? She would oblige, it would be rude not to. She hesitated on the handle. The others would want to document this. Too bad, it was her discovery. Besides, it was just some stone boxes in a guard tower. Not so important.
Shael pulled the stone handle. It screeched after eons of being in the grasp of the stone woman. She was surprised to find that the short tapering baton came completely free. A dark hole was left where it had been pulled free.
Shael waited, holding her breath. Her eyes darting from side to side. Nothing. She exhaled and let herself relax.
Suddenly a low rumble, stone grinding against stone, filled the room. Shael screamed out loud and jumped, dropping the flashlight on the ground. It landing facing the structure. The small chamber rattled. Icicles fell from the walls, and the strange covering of salt on the ground hummed like a living organism.
Shael’s eyes were wide and transfixed on the lid as it slid slowly down on the 30-degree angle. It seemed to take an eternity but eventually came to a halt, as the side rested on the ground. It was open.
Pull yourself together Shael, you’re an archaeologist! She forced herself to draw some calming breaths and picked up the torch. She shone the light inside.
END OF EXCERPT