The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, Blake,” she returned, saddened when she realized just how true that was. Weena had been damaged during the fight and judging by where she ended up, wasn’t functioning correctly. She felt tense at the thought of what that meant, but she pushed it away the best she could. Best not to think about it right now. “I’m Jennifer, by the way.”

  “You look like a Jenny,” he grinned, the look of harsh disappointment not quite gone, but close enough.

  She grimaced as she laid back, trying to get comfortable. The meds were still making her feel drowsy. She felt the war between them and the caffeine rage throughout her clouded mind. She wanted to forget everything that had happened over the last couple of days. Let it all go and take some time to rest and relax, but she knew it wouldn’t happen. She might have to leave at a moment’s notice; wishing otherwise was futile.

  Her stomach grumbled and Blake leaned forward, patting his knees with his left hand. “That’s my cue. I’ll go fix us something to eat.”

  Something about the way he moved stirred a memory in her, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. It was true she couldn’t quite think straight, but still, one of the reasons she had been chosen to begin with was her clear recollection of everything she ever saw or experienced. She watched him exit the bedroom and after a brief pause, when she was sure he was out of earshot, she spoke as quietly as she could, “Weena, what’s Blake’s last name?”

  “Marsh,” she responded, and everything clicked into place.

  She was not here by accident.

  “Tell me you didn’t do this on purpose!” she whispered harshly. Weena allowed the following silence do all the answering she needed. “Fuck me.”

  III

  “How long was I out?” she asked anxiously, the date and place quickened her pulse as memories flooded her. She silently cursed; she should have paid more attention during orientation.

  “Three days. It is now May 27th, 7:06 p.m..”

  “Oh hell,” she groaned with the dawning realization that time was once again on short supply; the irony of which was not lost on her. “I need to get up,” she said more to herself than Weena, trying to will herself off the bed. Her fingers worked at removing the IV, the sting barely noticeable as she pushed everything away with only one clear intent, getting out of this bed before it was too late.

  “Not advisable,” Weena responded. “You will tear your stitches if you’re not careful.”

  She grunted as she ignored her companion’s advice and pushed back the covers, freeing her legs. “Not like you gave me much of a choice.”

  “You can’t stop it. You know that,” the A.I. reminded her.

  Blake had taken her in during extreme circumstances, helped to save her life, and she had looked into his eyes and seen the soul of the man within. “Then you shouldn’t have brought me here. Reap what you sow. There’s no way I’m can let this happen; he saved my life, there’s a debt owed.”

  “Jennifer,” Weena began, but paused as it became apparent that the warning was useless. She could almost discern a sigh as the A.I. continued, “you have fifty-three minutes.”

  Slowly, she got to her feet, feeling unsteady with the remnants of the drugs coursing through her system. She needed to be clear-headed or she would end up just as dead as the man she was intent on saving. It would break some serious regulations, but did it really matter anymore? The world she knew was gone. Reaching into one of the pockets on her trench coat, she withdrew a pill bottle and quickly downed two more pills. Almost immediately her senses were fully restored and she exhaled a sigh of relief.

  She saw her shoes at the end of the bed and quickly pulled them on. Then she was back up, shrugging into her trench coat and walking out the door at a quick pace. Her right hand reached in a pocket and withdrew her MP-32. She set it to Pulse and carried it low within the folds of her coat as she stepped into the kitchen, coming upon the oblivious man fixated on making them dinner.

  The smell was welcoming and it would be a shame they would never get to eat it.

  He noticed the movement and turned to her with a smile. “Hey, what are you doing out of bed? Trying to ditch me?”

  “Blake, we don’t have time. There are two men on their way here right now. They’ve been paid to kill you,” she stated bluntly and watched him grin; he thought she was joking. “I’m completely serious. Sean Thompson didn’t like losing his grant, felt you bribed your way into it. He hired a couple of gangbangers to take you out, make it look like a robbery gone bad.”

  The smile was slipping and for the briefest moment she saw the correct response, fear. “What are you talking about? Who are you?” he turned, the spatula falling to the floor forgotten. “How do you know Sean?”

  She shook her head in frustration. “Quit thinking of him as your best friend and move. Get what you absolutely cannot survive without, keep it light, and get ready to leave. Now. We have thirty-five minutes and counting.”

  He was going to argue further but the look she gave shut him up. He didn’t look like he totally believed her, but he wasn’t going to take that chance either. She watched him dodge down the hall as she stepped forward, grasped the pan, and removed it from the burner. She switched off the stove and moved towards the fridge.

  Milk.

  She missed milk almost as much as she did coffee.

  “Do you understand the choice you’re making?” Weena inquired.

  Oh, she got it. She had been doing this job long enough to understand the consequences of what she was about to do. It was true, the gravity of it hadn’t really set in yet, but it would the moment she Drifted. The time for doing something different passed the moment she had knocked on his door. Now, all she could do was minimize the Rifts created and hope the changes to the Slipstream weren’t too overly drastic. She was twitching with adrenaline and the lingering narcotics she had been on, but she knew from the instant she got out of bed how it would end; she was going to have to take him with her.

  Five minutes later he was out of breath, but had a small gym bag in hand and a laptop tucked under his lift armpit. His face was flushed, his eyes shifted about nervously, and he looked like he was on the verge of a mental break.

  “Leave it,” she commanded, gesturing towards the computer.

  He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  “He can’t—.”

  “I’m telling you, you have to leave it,” she stated, moving towards him.

  He finally noticed that she was holding something in her right hand and his eyes widened at the threat veiled within her tone. “You don’t understand. This is my life’s work.”

  “Leave it and you get a longer life. Or keep it and I walk, and you are on your own,” she warned, leaving no doubt that she’d do just that. She knew exactly what was on that laptop and there was no way she could allow him to take it with them.

  She slid the gun into her coat and reached out with her hand, gripping his free hand within hers. Taking a step closer, she looked him directly in the eyes and tried to soften her firm features. It probably looked comical, she wasn’t good at this part of the job. “Blake. Trust me. Leave it. I promise you, your work will continue. But if you want to be alive to do so, then you have to put that down on the table and come with me. Right now. We are running out of time.”

  He looked like he was beginning to reconsider his decision, but before he could act on it, the lights went out.

  “Too late.”

  IV

  Two men, two exits. She knew there was no safe route no matter which way they went.

  Fight or flight? She would usually choose to fight, but now she was responsible for another life and she doubted he had even been in a fistfight as a kid. He had soft hands and a kind face, neither useful at the moment. She needed to make a decision. They would anticipate someone coming to check the electrical box for a blown fuse, which was at the back of the house.

  So best bet? The front.

  She turned towards
the living room when she happened to catch another door by the pantry. The garage. That would work. She snatched the laptop out of his hand and grabbed his arm, forcing him forward. He was about to say something but she glared at him, making him gulp in response. Fear was rampant in his eyes and she felt for him; it wasn’t every day someone came to kill you.

  Snatching the keys from the rack by the door, she silently slid the door open and pushed him through. There was a small tinkle of glass from the direction of the bedroom she had been in and knew they would quickly be in the house. Closing the door, she turned to Blake. “Don’t make a sound. No matter what happens, just keep your head down and stay by my side.”

  “They’re really here to kill me,” he stammered, eyes wide.

  “Keep quiet. Open the driver’s door, put the key in the ignition, do not start it. Then get in the passenger seat,” she instructed in a rushed torrent. She backed away from the door, pistol raised, ready to respond the instant the door opened.

  The device on her leg began to vibrate. It was a warning. Her eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen. Was it fortuitous or an incoming disaster that would wreck everything? Weena, your timing sucks. She reached into her right pocket and withdrew a device that looked a lot like Weena, only smaller. She sprinted towards the car, got in the driver seat and clicked the door shut.

  Blake was watching anxiously as she slammed the device into his hand. “Put it on, like a watch,” she commanded. When he hesitated, she shook her head angrily, “do it or die. Your choice.” The door to the garage opened and she saw the tip of a gun appear through the crack. They were coming. “Right now, Blake!”

  Weena began to vibrate once more, only more strongly this time. She glanced at him quickly, her heart pounding in her chest and relief flooding her that he had actually listened to her. He was busy looking at his wrist and his vibrating new accessory; he hadn’t seen the assassin stepping into view.

  The glass shattered, the front windshield spidered, and she felt something whip by her head. Fuck that was close. Weena, we need to fucking Drift already. As if in answer, the vibration increased and her vision doubled.

  “What’s happening?” came Blake’s trembling voice.

  She brought her pistol around, intent on firing on the psychopath in blue baggy clothing, when all of a sudden, time stopped. A bullet had been fired and it was streaking their way, but now it was hanging suspended in mid-air. Her body grew cold, her chest tightened, and her brain fluctuated with the amount of input thrusting into it.

  Everything doubled and as the world around her faded, another started coming into being. It was terrain of some kind, no buildings evident. Where the hell was Weena taking her now? Their shift through the Slipstream happened quickly and her body flooded with the after-effects of a time jump. They were in a desert, the landscape lit by a warm rising sun. The air was clean and hot. It was going to be a scorcher, his warning about a blistering afternoon coming true.

  He looked at her in surprise, then his eyes widened, his pupils rolled, and he passed out.

  “That figures,” she muttered in resignation.

  “Death Valley, February 3rd, 1865 7:01 a.m.,” Weena informed her.

  “Oh, this is going to suck,” she responded, looking at the desolate landscape and not seeing shade for miles. What was she going to do now?

  Glossary

  PhraseRough English Translation

  Orcish:

  Gou wɪð ˈɒnə go with honor

  ˈbɹʌð.ə brother

  daɪ̯ wel die well

  qabru tomb or grave

  napšutu qatû to die

  mūtu death

  sarartu treachery

  aksu brazen, insolent

  Parrisu traitor

  Arānua coffin , a casket , a sarcophagus

  bēt pagrimorgue

  mūt ḫinqudeath by strangulation

  Dwarven Dialogue:

  Fur now they ur concentratin’ oan overwhelmin’ a body dyke by sheer numbers, but considerin’ hoo mony ur it thaur, they coods surround aw fower an’ still burst us bonnie stoaner:

  For now, they are concentrating on overwhelming a wall by sheer numbers, but considering how many are out there, they could surround all four and still hit us pretty hard.

  Heard we owe ye uir li’es an’ ‘at Ah gie cheers. However, bein’ a newborn runt means bein’ whieest an’ waitin’ fur orders, understuid?

  Heard we owe you our lives and I give thanks. However, being a newborn runt means being quiet and waiting for orders, understood?

  Th’ laddie main be a green advisur, but he’s a trained Guardian, fa did his duty protectin’ his prince an’ returned oan his ain, ben th’ lines ay an oncomin’ horde, tae warn us ay a traitur, fa was at ‘at huir uv a moment lettin’ those vermin intae uir haem! As fur th’ mage, Ah dornt hae tae loch it, but th’ man’s reit, can we pure turn awa’ help? Ur ye ‘at confident we can repel th’ invaders?

  The boy may be a new advisor, but he’s a trained Guardian, who did his duty protecting his prince and returned on his own, through the lines of an oncoming horde, to warn us of a traitor, who was at that very moment letting those vermin into our home! As for the mage, I don’t have to like it, but the man’s right, can we turn away help? Are you that confident we can repel the invaders?

  Donner walk

  GrogDwarven ale

  A bodyone

  Ganggo on

  Gieget

  Haemhome

  Toistwo

  Uirour

  Boorichiebunch

  Bloonblown

  Lochlike

  AamI’m

  Mebbemaybe

  Aloynalone

  Slainte“health” (used as a toast, like the English Cheers!)

  Recaarecall

  An awas well

  Ayof

  Haurhere

  Pure techtmean

  Abuneabove

  AnceOnce

  Awreddyalready

  Haehave

  Kenknow

  Wuidword

  Wee-heidpigeon

  Abitabout

  ‘atthat

  Ohoch

  Whaurwhere

  Cheilman

  Henwoman

  Bairnchild

  Brineocean/sea

  Afairbefore

  Taeto

  Stainstand

  Ooghtought

  Pokebag

  Hinkthink

  Hin’thing

  Michtmight

  Binbeen

  Aw ayall of

  Doondown

  Straechtstraight

  Horse’s gobhorse’s mouth

  Och ayeOh yes

  Gringround

  Affoff

  Noonow

  Thaurthere

  Tintlost

  Eeneyes

  ‘enthen

  Lestlast

  Tauldtold

  Fawho

  Lainland

  Athwartacross

  Waurwere

  Awall

  Wi’with

  Hudhad

  Sic’such

  Eh’dI’d

  Fraefrom

  Woodswould

  Scratcherbed

  Wrangwrong

  Swatchlook

  Justnoojust now

  Duirdoor

  Enawenough

  Saeso

  Speartasked

  Spickspeak

  Shaashall

  Meitmeet

  Oanon

  Gabtalk

  Gaegave

  Untaeunto

  Mairmore

  Heelhell

  Daindone

  Dykewall

  Rí ruirech

  A "king of over-kings", a rí ruirech was often a provincial (rí cóicid) or semi-provincial king to whom several ruiri were subordinate. They were also referred to as ri bunaid cach cinn ("ultimate king of every individual")

  Ri buiden

  A ri buiden (king of bands), also ri tuath (king of [m
any] tribes) or ruiri (overking), was a regional king to whom several rí benn were subordinate, and often other territories. He was in some sense still a petty king, but could also achieve provincial-level prominence, including, although rarely, the provincial kingship, and was often fully sovereign in any case.

  Rí benn

  A rí benn (king of peaks), or ri tuaithe (king of a single tribe) was most commonly a local petty king of a single túath, although "one" túath might be many times the size of another. Importantly, in theory every king of a superior grade was also a ri benn himself, and exercised no direct compulsory legal authority outside his own ancestral túath. Kings were bound to others by military allegiance and the payment of tribute.