by P. G. Thomas
John, remembering the map he had purchased, started to assemble a program in his head. Mentally coding a geographical subroutine so that the magic would be able to find the Ironhouse Mine, he then added a second so that it would move south until it found the overlook where the battle happened. Seeing Zymse laughing as he circled Eric, John turned his thoughts back to the program. From his memory, he embedded an image of the overlook as a reference, and just as quick, after creating an event specific subroutine, he inserted the time travel equation. He saw Eric stumble, fall, and watched Zymse kick the half-sword away. Thinking back to the final day of the battle, when Lauren and Logan stepped through the portal, John placed an image after an equals sign in the formula.
Zymse was walking towards him.
John screamed out, “NO, ERIC, GET UP!”
He never answered the calls for help.
Resting against the wall, watching, Steve was unable to comprehend the horrors that exceeded any visions ever seen, but he heard John’s screams for help. Bending forward, he grasped the holster, and undoing the clasp, he pulled out the snub-nosed revolver. Zymse back was to him when he raised the small gun, steadied his arms, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
John, hearing the shot, saw Zymse stumble, but he continued to assemble the program, embedding his message into it.
As Zymse raised himself from the floor, Steve saw the dark mists drop the spent bullet. Firing again, he saw the strange smoke absorbed the final shot, which also fell to the ground. Feeling the mists grab the revolver from his hand, he watched it deliver it to the man in black.
Zymse examined the piece of metal, “Interesting. I never expected this from you. Maybe you will provide me with some entertainment after all.”
John released the program into the magic.
Zymse looked down at Steve, “Is that all you have?”
The SEALS had never promised him training; they had promised him hell, which they delivered by the truckload. Nine out of every ten, who thought that they were tough enough, walked away from the chance, but that training failed to compare growing up in an apartment with an abusive, drug-addicted, alcoholic mother who beat the crap out of him every other day. He had killed his first rival gang member at the age of twelve, being one of the most feared in his neighborhood. Going back to that world, that would have been hell. SEAL training, he never understood why the others complained.
Racing across Calicon, the Magic arrived at the Ironhouse Mine, activating the second geographical subroutine.
Steve grabbed Zymse’s foot before it connected with his head, twisted it, forcing the black veils to the ground, as the crown rolled to the side of the room.
Racing south, finding a location, the Magic compared it to the image reference.
Steve had Zymse on the ground, punching him the same way that his mother used to hit him, but now, he hit harder.
Confirming the location, the magic activated the event specific subroutine.
Steve felt the Darkening swirl around his face, covering his nose and mouth, cutting off his air. Being a Navy SEAL, he could hold his breath for over two minutes and continued to punch the crap out of Zymse.
The Magic examined the time travel equation but rejected it. It had no understanding of math: it was power. It had no comprehension of time gone; past, present, and future all meant nothing. It only sought compliance. With its purpose defined, its mission incomplete, it went in search of closure: went into the past.
Wrapping around Steve, the Darkening lifted him off of Zymse, throwing him to the back of the room.
Slowly raising up from the floor, Zymse’s face was battered mess of cuts and bruises, and the black sash that hid the lower half of his face was now missing, just like several teeth. “YOUR DEATH WILL LAST ONE HUNDRED YEARS!” Pointing at Steve, the black mist came out of the ground, heading towards the Navy SEAL.
John kept channeling the magic, increasing the vortex, pulling magic from the skies, sending it after the spell to ensure it had sufficient power to travel back through time.
[On Line. Analyze threat. Implement Armour. Increase Strength.] Steve, pushing through the cloud of black mists, headed for Zymse, but now his pants had melded to his legs, his body metallic, and a rage burnt in his red eyes.
Letting out a shriek of terror, Zymse’s ordered the tattooed men to attack. Calling to the Darkening, more came out of the floor and the ceiling, but still Steve pushed through the resistance.
*******
Arriving at a possible destination, the Magic ran a comparison against the mental image in the program, calculating a 98% similarity, and then watched the events from forty years ago unfold.
“Kill him John,” coaxed Arora, “End this now.”
“I don’t know if it’ll stop them, he may die, but the Blood Bond will still make them march to the West. They’ll probably march to their deaths in the next ocean. Killing him isn’t the answer.”
When a portal opened, four stepped through, “John’s right Arora.” Everybody looked at her.
Brooke wiped tears from her eyes, “Lauren—”
“All will call me Earth Mother.”
“Ah, the Earth Bitch comes to greet her new master. Very touching, Thorn. Did you enjoy spending time with my brother? Are you ready to surrender?”
“Your brother gave me many gifts, and I didn’t accept them willingly, so I thought I should return them.” She reached for the man in the white sash, caressed his head from his temple to his jaw line, returning all of the pain to the family that had gifted it to her. Then the man in the white sash screamed like no other had. Lauren had screamed over a thousand times when the Royal House had her as a guest, but he screamed a thousand times all at once. The sound so horrific that John tasked the magic, surrounding the little man in a sphere of quiet until he had accepted the gifts returned. Even though she saw the anguished look on the man who wore white, she could tell he was screaming but heard no words. Turning, she saw John and sensed the power, “How—”
He smiled, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I’ll explain it later, Earth Mother.”
Lauren looked at Logan, “Bastard, would Sister like to lend a hand?” He smiled as she turned to face the little man, holding her staff level in front of her.
Logan walked up, placed a hand on one end, “Burn.” Energy poured forth from him into the staff, and it began to glow.
When the look in the bullies’ eyes changed, they all saw his fear.
“John, I was wondering if you could help enlighten our guest on the wrongs he has done.” He grabbed the other end of the staff, sending the raw surging power into it. Not sure of what Lauren was going to do, she was Earth Mother, and it was not his place to question her.
Behind them in the center of the group, an image crackled. John, thinking it a spell cast by the man in the white sash, sent his mind into the cloak to retrieve the magic. When the vision appeared, it was an image of John. “Lauren, do not change the history. I repeat do not change the history.” Then it appeared as if it was in a loop, flashed, started the message over. Three times this happened, and then, the odd vision disappeared, being absent of sufficient magic to deliver the final part of the message: ‘Tell Mirtza to destroy the machine.’
John shrugged his shoulders, “I would trust him if I were you.”
Lauren turned, facing the small man in the white sash, as fear grew in his eyes. Failing to completely understanding what was happening, he quickly realized that he would not like how it was going to end. John and Logan stepped back, and the man in the white sash screamed, “You cannot do this. It was foretold, when the suns are one, a new age will be born. I AM THAT NEW AGE.” With his voice filled with rage, anger was written on his face.
Lauren smiled, “A new age, yes. For you, no, for your people instead. For the crimes against them, for your sins committed here, for your arrogance, your inhumanity, your brutality. I purge the Blood Bond from all inflicted. However, you—you, we will hang.”
Snappin
g the tri-wood staff, a white-hot light burst forward, becoming a wide ribbon, which flowed out towards the army, seeking out the Blood Bond so that the heat from Logan could purge it from the affected. When it had gone around the globe, it was satisfied, and the magic from John, its mission completed, faded away.
Tranquil watched the scene unfold, Mother, Father, Sister, Fury, we have peace.
Dropping the broken tri-wood staff, Lauren looked out over the battlefield, “THIS WAR IS OVER. SURRENDER NOW. EMBRACE PEACE.” It was the strongest Earth Bond the Earth Mothers had ever felt, but Core Wood never powered it since that source lay broken at her feet. The spark that the elfin Earth Mother first saw, it had grown, grown into the fourth sun: Hope. Lauren no longer needed a crutch to lean on, she understood the power, tapped into Mother directly, wrapped the Earth Bond around it, and sent it forth. The only sounds heard were weapons falling to the ground.
*******
Hanging from the chains, John continued to channel the magic into the spell, and then he saw Steve, whose lifeless body had reverted to normal.
Zymse turned to him, “Well, that was unexpected, short, but different. You were saying you could fix something. Why not start with that machine of yours?”
Throwing his head back into the hard stones, John winced in agony when new memories appeared out of nowhere, and old ones withered away. He opened his eyes, looked at the room, and saw Zymse, but it was hard to focus. It was like gazing into a reflection pool when somebody was throwing stones into it, causing him to see small ripples in his vision. Giving his head a shake, when John blinked his eyes, the image began to change. Then he recalled the new memories; the trial after the war, seeing Zacalia Darmaul, the man in the white sash, hanging from his neck for the war crimes committed. As the changes to history traveled back along the magic spell, the path of least resistance, more memories slammed into his head. He saw Zymse holding his own head, as if he thought it was going to explode. Even though the future started arriving in blasts, the spell kept him tethered to the past. He saw Ryan and Lauren at the end of the room, but after he had blinked, both bodies were gone.
Suddenly, Zymse remembered courting Katamia after her husband’s assassination. Originally, he was more interested in her family’s power and wealth. However, over time, he began to love her with all of his heart, a new emotion for him, which almost made him feel guilty about arranging the assassination. He remembered their wedding day, being so proud that she took his last name, and the pleasure of adopting her three sons. He had always hoped that one day they would accept his last name, but they wanted to honor their father and kept his: Darmaul. However, they still brought him joy, especially when it came to passing on his family history of branding slaves, and over time, he grew into a loving father similar to his own. As a result of this new love, he forgot about his own ambitions, but when somebody poisoned her, she uttered her deathbed request to make her son’s great rulers, demanding he groom them for their rightful position. He looked at John, “What have you done?” Then Zymse stopped, “Zacalia, it was you who told the Earth Bitch about the Blood Bond. Jaccatha and Imoxes, you all killed my three-born stepsons, and that was why I felt a hole in my heart.” Zymse fell to his knees when he remembered receiving the odd letter from Calicon. That the youngest had been tried for war crimes and had been executed. Then he remembered receiving similar messages stating the deaths of Jaccatha and Imoxes, “You, bastards, you killed my step children!”
John tried to focus his blurred vision on Zymse, but the magic spell was aiding the changes to history that rushed forward, and they slammed into him like percussive waves, as each one tried to rip him apart. He recalled seeing two bodies on the floor, but they were gone now. Then he realized the past and present had him trapped, but the future was trying to pull him forward.
Zymse raised himself to his feet, “What have you done? My sons, these lands they should have ruled as foretold. WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“They rule the lands of the dead, as that was the legacy they brought with them.” When John felt the spell shatter, the present arrived, and it ripped into him. The image in front of him fractured, reset, and everything went white.
HERE ENDS BOOK ONE
OF THE GRAY-MATTER CHRONICLES
BOOK TWO ‘Reset’ IS NOW AVAILABLE
A note to the readers;
While it is my hopes that you enjoyed this book, which provided you with days of enjoyment, the actual publication required a two-year investment on my part, including more funds than I had anticipated. Reviews generate exposure (allowing me to advertise), and in turn, produce sales. Even though I have no delusions of becoming rich, I would like to recoup my investment, and that is only possible by support from readers who leave reviews. To date, I am averaging one review for every 250 people who have read, purchased, or acquired it for free. However, without reviews, it falls quickly into the Amazon basement, being harder to find.
If you were lucky enough to pick up all 6 books for free, I beg you to leave a review. The purpose of that promotion is both gain readers and to increase the sales rank. When thousands of people download them, it helps to create a presence for the books, but when reviews fail to materialize, my efforts are relocated to the shelves of obscurity.
While I was hoping to be able to afford a better editor for the next trilogy, as it stands right now, I may not even be able to afford covers. Being different from most authors, when I publish a trilogy, all three books are released at the same time so that you do not have to wait. Is that not the kind of author you want to support?
In closing, please leave a review.
Sincerely,
P.G. Thomas