When Icaeph smelled the Linear all conscious thought left him.
A short man, wide in stature, stood at the rock wall. He held in his hand a sharpened antler and, in the other hand, a flattened rock. He raised the rock and hit it on the blunt end of the antler. The antler scraped down the rock wall, creating a groove.
Scrrraaape.
Click. Tap. Tap.
He raised his hand again to strike the antler. Icaeph was upon the man before he struck the blow. A nearby torch, propped in a rock cairn, fell to the side. It cast long shadows of the brutality. Dark blood spattered across the petroglyphs on the wall. The darkness dripped to the dirt floor and dried. Gurgled cries fell silent as Icaeph fed greedily.
Icaeph blinked up at the dark ceiling. He was not sure where he was. Turning he saw the corpse; gaping maw where the throat had been, eyes wide with surprise and terror, coagulated blood pooled in the dirt beneath it.
Icaeph’s wide mouth tightened into a frown. Apparently, he had fed. Though he did not remember it. Wisps of memories gained from the Linear whirled in Icaeph’s brain: the hunt the night before, celebration, feasting, mating. Icaeph grimaced again trying to shake the Linear’s experiences from his mind. He loathed the sweat and feces smell coming from the corpse and imagined the foreign memories in his head smelled of rot. Rotten, foul smelling memories would float in his brain until dissipated.
He blinked at the dark ceiling again. What time was he in? The sun was out. Main-time. Icaeph closed his eyes. The Linear’s blood had helped restore some of his energy—enough to find where he was in time. He dared not fall asleep in this area of the cave. It was a recent passage that had opened with passaging water over the thousands of years but was solid rock in the past. If Icaeph fell asleep here, he would more than likely become embedded in solid rock 20,000 winters ago. Would he cease to exist? Though death had seemed inviting not but a moment ago, sobered, he did not yearn for destruction. Not as much.
Icaeph still did not have the energy to stand. He crawled on hands and knees until he found his safe chamber farther back in the cave. He wondered, before falling asleep, if the Linears would travel back this far? He did not think so. Their torches of fire would extinguish before they reached his chamber. His last thought was of the rotting corpse. He would have to dispose of that soon. Sleep overtook him. Once again, he disappeared.
It was night in main-time when he awoke. He was sure of it. Icaeph stood, weakly, and listened. No sound. Nothing moved. He was safe in his frozen moment of time where only he existed. Slowly, unsteady on his feet, Icaeph shuffled soundlessly through the cave passage. The pebbles and dirt stirred by his feet moved and scattered through time, landed minutes forward and behind his time. He stooped and crawled through passages too low for him to walk in. He slid in and out of time to when the passages were wider, careful to not collide with himself when he had previously slid through time there, then returned to his frozen-time where a collision was not a concern. Shortly he approached the corpse in main-time. Icaeph looked. The ghostly images of the Linear entering the cave and drawing were clear and stark in the darkness. Icaeph tried not to focus on the equally clear and stark images of when he had crawled like a rodent towards the Linear—ripped the throat out, then lapped at the fount. The ghostly image of himself crawling away became focused. Icaeph unconsciously moved out of the way so he did not touch the loathsome ghost version of himself crawling in the dirt, mad with hunger. Icaeph looked down at his body, covered in blood and dirt. When in his frozen-time, dirt would not stick or react with him. However, in Linear-time he had literally rolled in the blood-mixed mud and stank nearly as much as the corpse. Icaeph wrinkled his nose in disgust as he synced into main-time. His smell and the smell of the corpse were a physical presence.
He grabbed the body of the dead Linear and gathered it to him. The tongue, purple and swollen, poked from the mouth. The eyes, wide and unseeing, covered with sand and grit, lolled at him. Even weak as he was, the body weighed less than a bundle of twigs to Icaeph. He carried the Linear towards the entrance of the cave. This closest entrance was small. Icaeph had to place the body on the ground and crawl out, pulling the body after him by its moccasin clad foot. Being in main-time, the sound of the dragging was loud and obnoxious. Icaeph stood and gathered the corpse again. He slipped into a time so long ago ice covered the ground and the entrance to his cave was too small for a mouse to enter. Here he walked south until he came to a depression in the ground. Water bubbled up in a sulfur spring. Steam rose from it. He threw the body into the small water outlet where it sank, mostly. The dark water covered the corpse greedily. Icaeph watched it sink. A solitary limb floated at the top. It too would eventually sink. Icaeph turned his back and returned to his frozen-time.
He would clean the stink from himself and go feed. Movement at the edge of his vision caught his eye.
Nothing can move in his frozen-time except for him. What was moving? He darted his head from side to side to find the cause.
There was nothing.
Icaeph paused and puzzled at the trees and grass, frozen in mid breeze, where he had seen something.
Imagining things? He wondered.
A wave of dizziness crashed over him. He would need to feed soon. He must have gone for winters without eating. The one Linear was enough to bring him back to reality but not sustain him for long. Thankfully, the rotten taste of the Linear’s memories were already fading.
Icaeph reached forward to main-time looking for the close-by encampment. A force like a warm and heavy lead ball rolled in the front of his brain until it stopped—pointing towards where the Linears were. They were a small tribe. He had fed on them for hundreds of winters. One weary foot at a time, Icaeph walked towards their camp.
A singular small fire was still burning. The Linears were mostly asleep. A lone watchman stood at the edge of the camp facing the river. The ghost images of these Linears stretched in front of Icaeph as he looked on from his frozen moment thousands of years in the past. He walked through the camp focusing on main-time, ignoring all the previous nights he had been here, and searched for the Linear who would serve him best tonight.
The elder of the group slept on a palette of hides elevated at the head by bundles of thatched leaves. His breathing labored, and he shook with the effort of it. Icaeph slipped into main-time and knelt by the aged Linear. He bent and with control, drank deeply from the Linear, drawing energy from his skin and blood from the pulse in his neck. Icaeph grimaced as the memories and fragmented thoughts invaded him as he drank. The Linear smelled of curdled milk. The touch of the leathery skin sent energy through Icaeph and made the fine hairs on the back of his arms stand on end. He pulled away and sat still for a moment, the energy flowed through him. Roughly, he touched the wounds at the Linear’s neck and they began to heal. The Linear snored a deep, loud inhale once then began to breathe evenly again.
Icaeph wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sneered. Killing them all would give no satisfaction. Nor would he have food when he next hungered. He loathed the need to feed upon these Linears. Hated them. Hated himself. Hated time.
Movement flickered again at the edge of his vision. Icaeph worried the watchman had spotted him. Quickly, Icaeph slipped back into his frozen-time in the past, safely away from any observers.
There were none.
In the night’s safety, Icaeph began to walk through the woods and unconsciously synced with main-time again. He did not even realize he had synced until the first raindrops fell upon his skin. Careless. Even in the woods, in the dead of night, Linears might have seen him. To a Linear he would have appeared out of thin air, a cold gust of wind to mark his appearance. The rain fell more steadily. His filthy clothes began to stick to his skin. He raised his long, oval face to the clouds and welcomed the cool wetness. Nearby a fa
wn stepped away from the tree line and paused. Icaeph did not notice. Neither did he notice the lone man who knelt in the shadows of the trees, downwind.
Rivulets of blood and dirt ran down Icaeph’s face, cleansed by the rain. He raised his hands to wipe his eyes dry. Another movement caught his attention, then he heard the hiding man’s heartbeat. Icaeph wiped his eyes dry again and peered into the dark woods. The heat of the man and the ghost images of his progress through the woods became clear to Icaeph. He considered syncing back to his frozen-time but hesitated. He knew this Linear not by sight but by attitude.
“Manipulator.” He gave a slight bow then smiled. “You have been quiet for a while.”
The lone man stood and came forward from the trees, but did not dare come too close. His voice cracked when he answered as if unused for some time, “It took some time to find this host. No thanks to you.”
“I thought you might enjoy a cave salamander as a host for a change. Linears must get boring.” Icaeph came closer to the man.
The man took a step backwards.
Icaeph repeated himself unsure if he had said his thought aloud already or not, “A cave salamander. Thought you would enjoy a break from Line…” His voice trailed off in mid-thought.
The man took a step towards Icaeph. He appeared severely disheveled with half of his waistcloth in tatters, dried blood on his chest and thighs. A necklace of finger bones clattered around his neck. He held out a hand. “You yourself have been silent too. I have not seen you for a hundred winters or more.”
Icaeph looked at him questioningly.
“You have lost track have you not?” The Manipulator tilted his chin towards Icaeph. “Losing your grasp.” An evil grin, a predator’s smile, appeared on his face. He took another step closer.
Icaeph did not move. He stared at the Manipulator.
The man took another tentative step closer. The nearby fawn darted back into the woods for safety. Neither paid attention to the noise the fawn made crashing through the thicket.
The Manipulator grinned wider and chided, “It would be most delicious—” He stepped closer, holding his hands close to his sides. “—if I had you as a host. Imagine how quickly I would destroy the universe and be released from this never-ending hell.”
In a rush, the Manipulator jumped at Icaeph, raising high a dagger made of stone.
Icaeph stepped sideways without hesitation and the Manipulator plunged to the ground. He rolled and grunted.
“I can see your decisions before you make them, like ghosts in the air.” Icaeph spat on the ground. “You are tiresome.”
With that Icaeph slipped away into his frozen-time. He saw the Manipulator, now as a ghost image in main-time, prone on the dirt. He did not hear the scream of frustration erupting from the Manipulator, framed with a wide-open mouth, bulging eyes, hands clenched in fists.
“He probably woke the tribe,” Icaeph surmised.
Turning his back, Icaeph walked towards his home and thought of his Manipulator no more that night.
***
Icaeph rested in the darkness deep inside the cave, his cave, which he had called home since his youth. Here the light of the sun had never existed at any time. The complete darkness was a respite.
He tried to remember his youth before the ritual, before becoming locked here in this place where time stopped for all but him. Trapped. Memories tried to surface, elusive, vague. They faded from his grasp.
The sun rose in main-time. Having eaten and gained some strength he would be able to stay active in his frozen-times for at least two winters or more. He sat, unable not muster the desire to stir. Outside, the Manipulator changed and adjusted time.
Slight changes. Moving things here.
The season faded, the next season mellowed the cold.
Adjusting things there.
Another season faded and the air outside warmed.
Killing. Baiting one tribe to attack another. Each adjustment caused the river of time to hiccup in its tracks and adjust. One by one, the adjustments compounded, and the universe listed slightly.
Icaeph ached with each molestation of time and weakened as the seasons passed. Yet, he lay still in the dark and ignored the world. Let it collapse. Let the Linears die. Let their stinking, dirt covered bodies rot like so many corpses; bloated, with tongues lolling.
Cave crickets crawled across his face. He did not move. Their feet, delicate and ephemeral as his memories, touched his cold skin. He brushed at the cave crickets that had crawled onto his eyelids.
Bright lights blinked at the side of his vision like fireflies. He turned his head slowly to see. Only darkness.
He knew. There was no mistaking. This must be what madness looks like as it creeps in. What did it matter?
Absently, he realized he must have slipped into time again; else there would be no cave crickets. Yes, this must be madness. A forgetfulness and disintegration. He slipped back to his frozen-time. The cave crickets that had been on his eyelids came with him. Stunned by the transition, they froze and fell off his face. He looked at them, able to see in the darkness with clarity, and wondered if they were dead. He watched. They did not move.
Dead.
He envied them.
***
The moon was full, the winter harsh, when he next exited his sanctum. He stood, naked in the moonlight, synced with main-time. Blinking, he looked at the stars. He did not remember what he had done with his clothing, when he had last eaten, why he was standing here. Icaeph tried to muster some emotion; embarrassment, anger, hate—anything to feel.
Nothing.
He searched mentally for the Manipulator and found their disruptions. These disruptions caused the time streams to pull from their course and burned like shattered bone shards in his veins. Icaeph needed to fix these things; he had sworn to keep time safe from the Manipulator. He would fix them. He always had. For how many winters?
Icaeph paused, thinking to himself, unable to remember. It must have been many, many winters. He began walking again, slipping between his frozen-time, main-time and other random times. He was nearly unobserved, a naked specter visible to only the wildlife for only a second before he disappeared again into another time. Eventually, he realized he was approaching a molested moment. In his vision, the white ghosts of the Linears began to appear. It was the nearby tribe he usually fed upon. Icaeph was in his frozen-time again, luckily, and unobserved. The elder lay on his elevated bed with a spear protruding from his chest. The elder’s mouth gaped in a horrible slack-jawed grimace of death. The ghostly image of the spear and elder, however, were not white as normal images of time were to Icaeph. Instead, they were a ghastly yellow, tinged and tainted with a putrefied ocher. These things were not of the normal timeline. The Manipulator had created this mayhem. It would throw the time stream off track. The early death of the elder might spark some controversy. The details of it did not matter to Icaeph. Perhaps the spear was from another tribe and the death would cause a battle between the tribes: more than likely. Icaeph did not care; it only mattered this should not exist in this time. It needed fixing.
The gasps of the Linears caused Icaeph to look up from the elder. He had slipped into main-time and stood, stark naked, near the elder. Quickly he synced back to his frozen-time. Icaeph held out his hand for balance. He had to get a hold of himself.
Looking back through time, Icaeph saw where the Manipulator, intent on killing the elder, visited the camp in the night. Icaeph considered stepping in and killing the Manipulator before he harmed the elder. The difficulty was once killed—the Manipulator would inhabit the closest thing to him. It was best to drag him off and make sure the thing to inhabit was some cave cricket, salamander,
or something equally limited in range. He had to make sure he was not touching or close to the Manipulator when he killed him, lest he be the host. It would be a living death even worse than his trapped existence now. Icaeph considered his options carefully.
His vision swam, and the pain deepened in his bones as time shifted even further. Icaeph quickly turned and went back to where he had encountered the Manipulator in the woods those seasons ago.
Icaeph, from his vantage point, saw a clothed version of himself standing in the clearing looking up at the rain as it fell upon his face. The Manipulator approached carefully, step by step. Icaeph with tattered clothing dripping wet, stood there slightly confused. A fawn grazed nearby.
Icaeph did not remember what they had said. The Manipulator took his first menacing step forward dedicated on killing the immobile Icaeph.
Icaeph focused on that time and stepped into it. He forgot any confusion or weakness. His only purpose now was to kill the Manipulator, ending his ability to thrust a spear through the Linear chief’s chest in the future.
He stepped into the time. Both the Manipulator and the other, confused version of himself, turned towards Icaeph, who stood before them naked and seething. Icaeph grabbed the Manipulator and pushed him towards the fawn. Both were upon the fawn before it registered the bipeds’ appearance. The confused, clothed Icaeph only stood gaping in the rain, his brain lost and still muddled.
The Manipulator had only the hosts’ strength, the strength of a Linear. However, lacking fear of pain or mortality enabled him to fight more ferociously than a mere Linear might. He spun and struck at Icaeph with his dagger.
When Darkness Begins Page 5