Darque Wants

by Diana Steele

Kirrowind knew that he couldn't waste anymore time discussing things. He stabbed one of the creatures in the throat and created an escape route for himself in the crowd. Taking his gap, he rushed through and sprinted towards the tent.

  “Run! Run towards the mountains,” he shouted as he ran towards the tent.

  Lillian wasted no time. She repeated the order into the tent and began running with John by her side. Katrina, who had recovered at this point, was running but was beginning to fall behind. Kirrowind scooped her up over his shoulder and carried her as he ran.

  The group made it into the mountains with the horde of creatures nipping at their heels. Kirrowind watched with pride as his daughter fired off an arrow, while running, into the throat or eye of any creature that got too close.

  “Up here,” John said from the front of the pack pointing to a cliff. John began to climb up the sheer cliff face, using the natural roughness of the rocks as hand holds. Lillian followed him up the cliff. Kirrowind gave Katrina a lift up and she began to climb and he followed directly behind her, slicing at any hands that grabbed at his ankles.

  When they reached the top of the cliff, Kirrowind looked down and saw that the creatures could not climb up. He looked around and could see several other groups that had managed to escape onto other high spots around the area. Kirrowind wandered around the top of the cliff, making sure that it was a safe spot to rest.

  “Where is Erik?” Katrina asked when she finally caught her breath.

  “He didn't make it,” Kirrowind said sadly, putting an arm around his wife. “He stayed behind to give us time to escape.”

  Katrina sobbed quietly at the loss of her old friend. Kirrowind also felt a pang of sadness. He never like Erik, but he respected that his wife cared for him and he respected that Erik did the honorable thing in his final moments. His sacrifice was probably for Katrina's sake more than anything else, but it was still a noble deed.

  “Oh gods, it's Danielle,” Lillian suddenly said.

  Kirrowind followed Lillian's gaze and saw a woman lying still in the cleft of a nearby rock. He walked over to where she laid and checked for her pulse.

  “She's still alive,” he announced. “Is this another friend of yours?” he asked Lillian.

  “That is our Queen,” John said. “Is she okay?”

  “I think she will be,” Kirrowind said as he carried her over to where everyone else was standing and laying her gently on the ground.

  Suddenly, the woman's eyes flickered open. Kirrowind looked and saw her nearly black eyes and a chill ran down his spine. Somehow in his heart he knew that this woman was connected to the earthquake and the creatures. He sensed evil in those eyes.

  “What happened?” she asked as she sat up.

  “There was an earthquake,” John said, kneeling down next to Danielle. “Some monsters rose up from a crack in the earth and starting killing everyone. Only a few of us survived.”

  “This is all my fault,” Danielle said with a tear welling up in her eye.

  “What do you mean?” John asked.

  “I caused this. When I was 16, when I disappeared, I was visited by a spirit. This spirit told me that if I obeyed his commands then we would gain control of the Valley. The spirit gave me power to control people. That is how I was able to become Queen. As time went on, my power grew. All I had to do was lead the Outcasts where the spirit ordered me to go. A few nights ago, the spirit told me to bring the Camp here to the foot of the mountains. He told me to climb up to this mountain and utter a specific set of words. The spirit told me that I would call forth the souls of generations past and they would be my army to take back the Valley. The Ghouls were never supposed to attack Outcasts. I wasn't strong enough. I lost control.” Danielle began to weep as she told her story.

  “The stories were true then,” Kirrowind said after hearing Danielle's story.

  “What do you mean?” John asked.

  “The Mystics of Oldwoods used to say that the Flatlands were cursed. They told us that nobody should ever cross Eagle River or an evil spirit would seek vengeance. I thought it was just a story, but it must be true. The spirit that visited you, Danielle, we called Drakma or 'The Great Destroyer'. He tricked you. You were never going to be able to control those things. He simply needed a worldly vessel to cast the enchantment.”

  “Wait,” Lillian said suddenly, “do you all hear that?”

  “No,” Katrina said.

  “Exactly,” Kirrowind said, understanding what his daughter meant. “It's quiet. The Ghouls aren't trying to get to us anymore.”

  Lillian walked toward the edge of the cliff and looked down. “They are gone,” she said. “They are all heading east toward the Valley. There are ripped apart bodies everywhere, the Camp is burning,” Lillian continued with a catch in her throat and a tear in her eye.

  “What are we going to do now?” John asked Lillian as he stood by her and took her hand.

  “The Valley disowned us, but they only hate us out of ignorance. Ignorance is no reason to die. We have to help, somehow,” Lillian said looking out past the horizon.

  “You are correct,” Kirrowind said standing behind his daughter. “We have to stop this.”

  “It can't be done,” Danielle said still sobbing on the ground, consumed by guilt.

  “There are survivors from your people, still,” Kirrowind told her. “With your people, and if we can get Tribals and New Atlantisns to unite, we can stop anything.”

  “May the gods be with us,” Lillian said.

  Timenapped 1881

  Book 1

  Faith Comes

  Morgana Patrick

  Copyright © 2016

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  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  DISCLAIMER

  Please don’t be stupid and kill yourself. This book is a work of FICTION. Do not try any new sexual practice that you find in this book. It is fiction and not to be confused with reality. Neither the author nor the publisher or its associates assume any responsibility for any loss, injury, death or legal consequences resulting from acting on the contents in this book. Every character in this book is over 18 years of age. The author’s opinions are not to be construed as the opinions of the publisher. The material in this book is for entertainment purposes ONLY. Enjoy.

  *****

  Faith

  November, 1881 – Durango, Colorado

  Luxurious. That is the only word I can come up with to describe this feeling. Not a word I would have used a few weeks ago to describe the place I have found myself thrust in to. Which of course turned out to be a small town seemingly at the edge of nowhere in a completely foreign time. That is how these stories go though, isn’t it? A beautiful young woman minding her own business trying to live her life gets kidnapped and transported to another time. I would like to point out that if I had to pick a time to get transported to, I would pick right now.

  With a slight frown furrowing my brow, I roll to my side and my breath
catches in my throat. The light coming through the grimy window is casting an almost angelic glow on to Dorian. Dorian. What a whirlwind this one has been. Certainly a tumultuous experience but not without its perks. I have doubts as to the longevity but for the moment I am content to bask in the pleasant afterglow of a well-deserved and well-executed love making session. They seem to be happening more frequently these days and are certainly more about the sensual side of physical interaction than my earlier exploits. I am still unsure of how I feel about the whole situation, but it is exciting and the sex is good, two boxes that needed really big check marks in my life.

  My whole life I have been obsessed with this era – the late nineteenth century in the American West. In my fantasies, I was a saloon owner with a feisty reputation and a ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe. I could see myself running my own place, dealing with all the bad boys that pass through my doors and doing everything with style and grace.

  And the clothes, I could never get over the clothes, sumptuous fabrics and steamy cuts in strategic places. Of all of the historic time periods the Victorian era celebrated the idea of ‘woman’ and femininity. It was also the era that may have restricted her the most, at least physically. The corsets, while a sexy addition to any dress up wardrobe, are torture to wear every day, day in and day out.

  The Victorian era was a place where the women were meant to be demure and a pretty fixture in the home trussed up in their Sunday best. When everything was changing so quickly around them, women should have been able to evolve just as fast. As with all things, there were limitations set by their surroundings and the men in their lives. There were minimal good opportunities that could be pursued out in the open.

  My vision for myself was to make my own rules, dress as provocatively as I pleased, and make my bed with any man I choose.

  Given the opportunity, I will never back down from a fight. I always know exactly where I stand. This gives me the upper hand on the men here. They don’t quite know what to do with me. That feeling is actually quite thrilling. I know I have friends back home who would just be swooning and clawing my eyes out to be where I am right now. Our fantasy parties were masquerades with elaborate costumes and playacting at the things we thought might have happened way back when, well… here. I laugh a little now at myself at how I acted. If only they knew what it was really like in this time period.

  I haven’t come to grips with the fact that there is no civilization to speak of. Here it is quiet all the time, there are no bright lights, and there are actual animals and trees. I had only ever seen pictures of them. In my time they were the stuff of dreams and archived files. You could voice recall files of bears and beavers to your personal efolio to read about them, but I have reached out and touched them. I wouldn’t change that for anything.

  I know I have to make a choice soon about what my fate will be and everything seems uncertain. There is a freedom here and a thirst for adventure that I have never experienced. I am loath to go back to a time that tracks your every movement and human interaction to determine whether or not you are a credible threat to society and who you should be with. I have found myself wondering lately if I could make a life here on my own terms. Who would want to live in a place like that when here you can saddle your horse and gallop across a ridge fading into an unknown horizon? Or wake up next to him…

  Dorian’s chiseled features are highlighted and softened in this light, so much so that I reach carefully over to the bedside table and retrieve my drawing supplies. At home I would have been drawing on a screen and using voice color choice, but here I have real paper and real charcoal to sketch with. I take to task and quickly sketch the outlines of his face and shoulders, trying to catch the effect of the light on his skin. Getting the shading just right is tricky and it takes a few tries before I am satisfied. It is a rough likeness of him, but a piece that will go into my expanding collection. I place it carefully and quietly into the folder I keep hidden in the false drawer of the bedside table.

  Since I was brought here I have sketched daily, not wanting to forget any tiny detail. But I am afraid someone will find something in them that will give me away. Here, just being female is a detriment to my health, but being an intelligent, talented female is even worse. It is almost as dangerous as it was in my time, 2081.

  Morning of October 31, 2081 – Colradian

  “Ughhh,” I groan as I struggle to sit up. Why does my head hurt so much? I sluggishly review my memories of last night and the pieces begin to fall in to place.

  Dinner, drinks, dancing, and finally coming back to my place. The last piece of the puzzle is lying next to me still snoring. Ewww, he snores. I really liked him too, whatever his name is. I should know his name though; my door monitor took all of his information, DNA sequencing included, before granting him access.

  ‘Coupling’ can only occur between certain males and females and unless you are family or are a match, you can’t gain access to a dwelling that is occupied by a member of the opposite sex. So you can imagine what my dating life looks like. An endless stream of DNA matched partners that lack any real enthusiasm and passion.

  My sad excuse for a love life is quite unlike my beloved novels, which tell tales of dashing young men in fantastic attire saving beautiful young women in from bad guys and terrifying situations. The author effortlessly drags me in and keeps me there in my steampunk fantasy until I am all but begging to be there. To feel the touch of a man who knows what he’s doing and cares to do it right. The virtual books are a good substitute for the real thing but eventually even that grows tiresome. So I spend my days at work and think about that evening’s party and potential hookup. I try to enjoy myself as best I can and pretend to be happy for a night. Then I wake up in the morning, look over at the stranger next to me, and feel the gut wrenching truth rip through me all over again.

  How can you find your best match when it is all based on DNA? With this jaded view, I have given up ever finding true love and will be content to enjoy the many opportunities for sexual promiscuity that come my way. Not wanting one more person around to tell me what to do has also made me hesitant to jump into a relationship. My world is full of enough restrictions.

  Wearily, I swing my legs off of the edge of the bed and slowly make my way to the kitchen. The lights come on as I walk down the hallway, a feature of the new dwellings I have particularly enjoyed. The walls are a drab gray with no decoration or photos. There is no one for me to have pictures of on the walls. The coffee has already been poured by the butler bot, a creepy looking contraption that is supposed to be a ‘helpmate.’ Personally, I would rather make my own coffee and dress myself, but this kind of ‘rebellious’ thinking is frowned upon and actually cataloged. In fact, I should start thinking about something else. Work, I should think about work. Glancing over at the clock, I register that I am late, again.

  Moving somewhat faster, I grab my coffee and head to the automated closet that has already picked out my garments for the day. The smart closet does this for me every day taking into account the weather, what is on my schedule today, and who I will be interacting with. It is somber-looking garb today. That can only mean trouble for me. I call out to Fred, the butler bot, to wake up Andrew and show him the way out.

  Turning to my clothes, I get dressed and finish getting ready for the day. By the time I am done, Andrew has left and Fred has cleaned up the bedroom and changed the sheets.

  As I am walking out the door, Fred tells me to have a good day and wishes me good luck. Yeah right, I think, like anything good is going to happen today. The good luck comment throws me off, though, as he doesn’t usually add anything beyond the programmed language.

  I make my way to the elevator and press the button for the first floor. The elevator immediately fills with sounds of the ocean. It is meant to be calming, preparing you to go out into society and be your best person, be productive. For me, it is just maddening. I want to see the ocean, not just hear it. I would honestly settle for any body of wa
ter at this point. But alas, due to the overwhelming population, our natural water resources have all but disappeared. We now have to recycle most of our water.

  My dwelling is located in a high-rise building just a few blocks from where I work, so I am allowed to walk there. This is one of the few things I have a choice on. I enjoy walking to work. Most of my colleagues and friends think I am nuts but, I like to imagine that the air is real and clear. Enjoying my one bit of freedom, I ignore the buzzing and whizzing of the hover cars above me.

  I make it one block before I am completely immobilized and the world begins to fall away.

  *****

  Dorian

  Morning of October 31, 1881 – Durango, Colorado

  Today is the day. Today I will test my invention. It is a masterpiece my father started building when I was a boy and I have only just discovered the missing piece to make it run. I am saddened that he will not be here to witness the miracle of time travel. That is, assuming it works.

  The machine itself is not grand, but compact with a single data input point that allows for a specific set of parameters to be entered. These parameters, in theory, will narrow the specimen selection to the desired traits. The base of the machine is circular and large enough to hold two adults standing side by side. The rotating sphere-shaped frame encloses the platform and prepares the space for the specimen.

  The missing link that my father could never figure out was how to convert the steam we had to actually power the machine. Other steam-powered machines need to power motors and since our motor was not traditional, I had to make some modifications to convert the steam power to a compatible state.

  So why do I need a time machine? I used to ask my dad that all the time growing up. He would always answer in a very serious voice, “Son, you need to find the right woman.”

  He was right. Beyond the obvious excitement and sense of adventure that comes with the prospect of time travel, I need to find my soulmate. Yes it is selfish, but I also need her.