Deviance of Time

by Dan O'Brien

  Deviance of Time

  By Dan O’Brien

  A Bearer of the Seven Truths Novel

  Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold or destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

  Deviance of Time is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 Dan O’Brien

  Novels by Dan O’Brien

  The Path of the Fallen

  Book of Seth

  Bitten

  Drained

  The Ocean and the Hourglass

  The Journey

  Cerulean Dreams

  Dawn

  Water

  The Portent (A Bearer of the Seven Truths novel)

  Novellas by Dan O’Brien

  The End of the World Playlist

  The Twins of Devonshire and the Curse of the Widow (A Bearer of the Seven Truths novella)

  Phantasmagoria

  Steam City Samurai

  Excerpt from Journal

  January 23, 1943

  Existence. What an obscene thought. All life encompasses the whim of an omniscient being who, at any time, can create or destroy everything we perceive as tangible.

  Time: another creation by man to explain things they cannot understand; a label to which mankind can mark the miserable passing of their insignificant lives. A word that, simply put, is an explanation for the unseen and unknown.

  The fourth dimension, which transpires in space and time, is as real to us as the ability to read another’s mind. Perception is the key to unlocking Truth, and only through the application of Truth can a man truly live – no more, no less.

  In order to see life you have to perish; in order to see death you have to live. The ramblings of a madman, you say? I beg to differ.

  Only through stepping outside perception can a person ever attain Truth. How can mass and other tangible things exist when there is neither a beginning nor an end? What if there was no creation? How can a man explain, justify, his life?

  My time is growing short. I will soon be taken away to another unknown life. I am not mad or disturbed; only through a man’s faults can his true nature be seen. All that matters now is Truth, the one simple path that leads a righteous man to his predetermined destination. Time, existence, space, mass – attempts to understand what has no real form, no mathematical explanation.

  Time is an anomaly, and I will soon cease to exist because I have come to that realization. I can only exist if there is a delicate balance between man and his own mind. What am I to do now? Where can I go from here?

  I am pure energy.

  Life has lost its meaning.

  Perhaps I am wrong?

  Maybe the intangible can become tangible?

  Time and all other things are just continuous streams of energy that do not flow from any direction. Fall in love with insanity. Strip away life’s blinders. My name is James Rider. I am but a dream, and this is my story.

  Prologue

  She could hear the rhythm of the hooves beating against the drenched land, powerful legs driving hooves into slick earth. The horse came on like a ghost, chest heaving, the collective stench of many miles emanating forth amidst the spittle and foam when the beast had to travel great distances.

  The rain beat against the roof of the cottage; rows of wooden boards darkened in saturation from the torrential downpour. The thunder rolled across the land and reverberated against thin walls. Lightning reared, struck out, juxtaposed against the flowing river and the emerald hills.

  She sat upright at the sound of thunder, a plague upon the senses, tearing through her soul. The baby, nestled tightly in her arms, cried out, looking up with fear in his eyes. She rocked the child back and forth, cooing softly.

  The thunder cracked again with even more authority, causing the baby boy to startle and cry out. In the blinding flash of lightning, the door flew open, the wind full force against it. The baby, ocean blue eyes staring, froze. He cried no more and made no attempt to wiggle from his mother’s embrace.

  Darkness flowed outside the door, the night infected by the storm. Then darkness stirred, and the woman’s eyes widened in fear. A cloaked figure stalked through the door, never once missing stride, boots glistening from the downpour outside. The figure threw back the fold of his cloak and revealed a belt embroidered with strange symbols. She exhaled. The shadowed figure raised his arms and pulled back the dark hood. When the lightning flashed again, his face took form.

  Wavy, black hair flowed to the base of his neck, the bulk of it smothered by rain and stuck to his cloak. His gray eyes were without form, corneas a mass of the ghastly color of creatures that haunted dreams. His complexion was pale, and a few days’ worth of growth carved his chin line. His lips moved slowly as if he had not spoken in days.

  “My beautiful Helena.” The words seemed to come from every corner of the room. “I am home to see you before I make my way to Aridus castle.”

  She rose from the bed, the sheets trailing her as an elaborate dress, rather than bed linens of a mother and wife.

  “My husband, Menchu.” The words escaped her lips quickly. Her shoulders sagged and she exhaled deeply at his adoration. She extended her arms, the baby cradled within, to the brazen figure of Menchu. “I have waited for your return for many months.”

  She looked down at the baby, then back to Menchu. “Your son was born to me while you were away. He has blue eyes, like the seas of Fertusa. What shall we call him?”

  Menchu led his wife back to the bed gingerly and bent forward to where she sat. “We shall call him Alterez,” he said.

  “Would you like to hold your son?” she asked, holding the baby out to him. Menchu hesitated for a moment, not sure of what to do.

  He had never held a baby, and this was the child who would grow to be the man who would succeed him, as Menchu had succeeded his father before him. Menchu sat on the bed and held his arms in a cradled position, allowing his wife to place the baby in them.

  “My son,” Menchu spoke softly.

  The baby began to scream, a voice that Menchu would someday come to fear. Menchu stood up quickly. His cloak began to smolder, and he shoved the baby back into his wife’s arms. Menchu tore the cloak from his frame and threw it to the ground, grinding his moist boots against the smoking material.

  “What sort of devilry is this?” screamed Menchu, turning his attention to his stricken wife.

  “I don’t know what happened. I don’t understand,” Helena stammered. She rose from the bed with the baby cradled in her arms and hid in the shadows near the window. Menchu tossed the cindered fabric against the far wall and approached his cowering wife, his eyes glowing in anger.

  “That demon is to be cast from my home.” Menchu used dark magic to make his form expand into the shadows. “The boy is cursed, and I will not have him destroy what I have worked so hard to create.”

  “The child meant no harm.” Helena began to sob. “You can’t take my child from me. I will not let him go – not even for you.”

  Menchu flinched at the words. He grabbed at his wife’s dress, throwing her up against the door. The baby cried, and Menchu reached forward to hit the child. The baby’s eyes met his, and Menchu pulled back as if he had been slashed.

  “So be it then.” Menchu’s voice, lost of anger, had taken on a somber tone. “Both you and the child are cast from my home. Never again shall you enter where I have holdings. You are banished from the kingdom of Arantania. Go now, before I have the
guards remove you.”

  Helena’s eyes closed. She turned on the heel of her foot and opened the door, wrapping a cloak around her body to shield the child from the storm, not once looking back at the figure of evil that had been her husband.

  The wind whipped through the room where the tides of time had been breached, and the woman pulled the hood of her robe over her and bent her head as she pushed out into the storm. The sun was rising above the hills, and the horizon flowed into a mixture of yellow and green. Helena left the house of darkness, the home of the vile wizard Menchu.

  Iteration I:

  Rendezvous with Death

  “There will be seven and then seven more. Seven warriors shall be the beacons of good and so shall they befall the greatest evils. When the Dark One is released, so shall the essence of Exodus, and the Bearer of the Seven Truths shall have to wield the blade of the ages and seal the Void for all times.”

  -Words of Myridia, sorceress of Prima Terra

  The scientific outpost on Tersden III was a small fragment of a planet with an oxygen-supplied dome, clear so that the scientists would not forget where they were. The Nemodtians sent their team of specialists to the asteroid for derisium, a rare alloy that, if mined correctly, could save their race.

  Jutriue gazed lazily at the surrounding atmosphere, his thoughts drifting. A specialist arrived, grabbed Jutriue’s arm hard, and pointed to the sky. Something was hurtling toward their outpost.

  “What is it, Xertius?”

  Jutriue knew the young man well. He was the youngest on the expedition, a new graduate from the scientific academy on Verdule, prone to solitary behavior. In Jutriue’s opinion, Xertius was the most talented person on the mission, but others, filled with pride from years of scientific study, disagreed. The young man’s face was filled with apprehension.

  “There are energy signals coming toward the site, and they are moving too fast to be cargo shipments,” Xertius said.

  Jutriue could see nine vapor trails, ships that appeared to be on a crash course with Tersden III. “They must be bombers or fighters. They are too fast for anything else. Who would be out this far?” he said. “Who would have anything to gain by attacking a scientific outpost?”

  Then it dawned on him: Xzin. He turned to Xertius and said, “Quickly, warn the others and sound the evacuation signal. Go before it is too late.”

  Just as he finished speaking, the nine bombers streaked by, their energy trails replaced by streams of plasma strikes that ricocheted and split the ground of Tersden III. The bombers flew over the installation once and went streaking back into the darkness of space, like the horsemen of the apocalypse.

  Men and women floated into space. Oxygen in their bodies was consumed, their blood vessels burst, and they suffocated; cast reminders of war and the cruel times that lay ahead. A communications screen floated near the face of Jutriue. One word scrolled across its screen: Xzin.

  “The Talmon were the grandest of species, but even they understood the failings of man, the need to destroy and to take the powers of others. When the two lights of the land were extinguished, man covered the land in its sickness and infected the holy lands of Exodus. Man found that both light and dark befell their path, and the choice would forever dominate their destinies.”

  -Teachings of Exodus, Third Age of Chaos

  The rolling fields of Nemodtia, stretching to the horizon, reflected on the sides of the golden ship. Entrance ramp extended, the interior was exposed to the elements.

  A trail wove through the yellow carpets of the fields and up the hillside to an articulate metallic structure, out of the ordinary in the surrounding environment. The compound reached far into the atmosphere, and clouds formed a dome around it.

  The doors to the structure were a fraction of the height of typical outer-realm homes. The Nemodtians were relatively small in size. Theirs was a solitary culture, one of the few remaining democratic societies in the outer realm that had not been seized by the dark warlord Xzin.

  The piertsa, elected leader of the Nemodtians, requested a private counsel with Fael Damon, the spokesperson and figurehead of the United Free Peoples State. Damon had endured the three-day trip to the outer realm to meet the leader of Nemodtia and to discuss the actions of Xzin, the cruel tyrant with a thirst for carnage who had recently raided a small outpost inhabited by a Nemodtian scientific team.

  The inside chambers of the structure mirrored something of the modern world, not gaudy or flamboyant, but pristine and elegant in a way that allowed visitors to feel at ease. The room had a large desk carved from a soft stone-like material, and the colors blended in swirling patterns, adding to the visually satisfying nature of the entire room. In front of the desk was a solitary, plush seat with an eloquent table on each side constructed of the same material as the desk.

  “Lord Kilyren,” began Damon, spreading his arms wide. “I come on the behalf of the State and bring with me their mandated power. How can I be of service to you?”

  Lord Kilyren was a small being, even by Nemodtian standards. He stood no more than a meter tall, and his skin was pale yellow. The skin tone of the Nemodtians generally matched their natural surroundings. In their resting state, they resembled the golden, rolling hills of their world.

  A peaceful race, the Nemodtians had recently begun to amass an army to ward off the constant assault of Xzin’s forces. Their space installation was fashioning a new type of shield generator that could perhaps cloak and deflect the entirety of the warlord’s attacks.

  “Thank you for coming all this way to meet with me,” began Lord Kilyren. “By all means, call me Sertion, and I will extend the same courtesy.”

  “Very well, Sertion, how can the joint council assist your democratic nation?” Damon’s facial features were of a warrior rather than a politician. He abhorred politics, but knew that there were indeed times when diplomacy was necessary.

  “Could I offer you something to drink?” Sertion’s eyes were much larger than human eyes, and most other species for that matter. His eyes grew even larger and clearer as he offered the drink.

  It was quite unnerving.

  He motioned to the platter with a curved, cylindrical flask that steamed. There were two mugs set out, and Sertion leaned to pick up the container of liquid. Damon nodded slightly, and Sertion poured liquid into the mug: a light blue, sweet-smelling drink. Damon brought the mug to his lips and sipped, the steam caressing his face.

  “That is quite good.” Damon reached for his robe to dry the moisture from his face, but a Nemodtian stepped in and dabbed it for him with a long weave of fabric.

  “I asked for an audience with a delegate of the joint council because I fear that we will not be able to hold out against Xzin’s demands much longer. His continued raids of our outposts and cargo ships are starving my people. I cannot allow it to endure.”

  “Understandable, your Highness, though I do not see how we could be of service. Your people never sent a delegate to the council. I can hardly…”

  Sertion silenced Damon with a wave of his three-fingered hand. “I ask now that the Nemodtians be allowed to join the United Free Peoples State so that we, too, can be represented. I am not asking you to fight a war for us. I only want to enlist your support and brotherhood.”

  Sertion’s features darkened. It was said to be impossible to tell the age of a Nemodtians, but Damon could tell that Sertion had seen many lifetimes.

  “Accept my apology, Sertion,” replied Damon. “I can speak for both the joint council and the State. We would welcome your representative in the council.”

  Damon gathered his robes about him and stood.

  He extended his hand.

  Sertion gripped it.

  “Do you already have your representative chosen?” Damon asked.

  “I do, indeed. Erinana, please come here.” Sertion waved his hand, and the doors to the chamber opened slightly. A lithe woman walked through the door, looking nothing like a typical Nemodtian.

  Ser
tion sensed the coming question. “Erinana’s spacecraft crashed on our planet after being attacked by Xzin, and she stayed to help our people rebuild each time one of Xzin’s assault squadrons came screaming through. Very few natives here can fly, so she was a blessing indeed.”

  Damon turned to Erinana and accepted her outstretched hand. He kissed it gently, being very careful not to focus on her glistening skin.

  “How very nice to meet you, Erinana.” Damon mouthed the words, little sound coming to his lips. He could feel a flush rising over his entire body at the beauty she radiated.

  She was the same height as Supreme Council Damon, and her eyes were multiple shades of blue. Her hair came close to her shoulders, lengthening at her jaw. A chalk white dress, accenting her slender form, yet leaving much to the imagination, hung nearly to her ankles.

  Erinana looked at Damon.

  He realized he was staring.

  “I assumed you could take her with you to Verdule, and she could reside in Garefe. She has not been very comfortable here.”

  Damon, embarrassed, resumed an air of authority and straightened his robe. “Of course she can accompany me to Verdule,” Damon said, turning quickly and coughing in his hands. “Unless, of course, you object to the proposal, Lady Erinana.”

  “That would be very agreeable.” She smiled as she spoke, and her teeth were blindingly white. “I have not been in the inner sector for many years.”

  “Well,” Sertion slapped his hands together. “Now that is in order, I think the two of you should return post haste.”

  “It won’t be just the two of us, I assure you, Lord Kilyren,” replied Damon in haste, and as the words escaped, he realized how foolish he sounded.