Tag Archives: time travel

The Blink, Conclusion

9 Jun

The Blink

Conclusion

By L. Stewart Marsden

 

Like Sequoia, Adams had eventually slumped down over the hours awaiting nightfall. As the sky and the forest darkened, members of the tribe stoked the campfire into a roaring blaze, which they continued to heap wood into. The heat from the fire roasted the two prisoners. Adams was able to twist partially around, and cool himself. Sequoia, whose feet were a few inches above the ground, was not able to twist as easily as he.

The members of the tribe were busy with preparation for the evening’s ceremony. The women painted the men’s faces and bodies with colors mixed from clay and ashes and berries. Fearful scowls were drawn on the already somber profiles, and here and there came a “whoop!”

Children sneaked close to Sequoia and Adams, dared by their friends to touch or prod one of the two. Her being a witch, and him perhaps being a Wanderer lent more than a measure of bravado to the antics of the young “warriors.”

As dire as the situation was, Adams remained strangely calm. He had no idea what tests he might be subjected to, but he could imagine. Cutting, perhaps. Impalement of parts of his body. He had seen enough movies of white men tortured by the Red Man. Who could know how accurate those depictions were?

Adams wondered if push came to shove, whether he could make his escape by willing himself to blink a special blink. Obviously any blink was not the trick. He had already blinked many thousands of times since noon to no avail. If he could somehow learn how to manage this — what? Gift? He started to laugh. This “gift” was the reason he was how many years into the past? Was the reason he was trussed up like a pig, almost. Was the reason whatever bad was going to happen, was going to happen to him.

He countered the bad with the good. He had never seen the earth, or space, or the galaxies as when he first traveled. He had never seen the world so green, or the skies so clear. He had never smelled the rain so fresh, nor tasted water from a creek that he was not afraid to drink. He had never seen such a ravine-haired beauty as Sequoia, her large eyes filled with life and wonder, her round face begging for his touch.

He shook his head to return to reality.

The activity of the tribe abruptly became more frenzied. Warriors began to dance and leap around the fire, which was fanned by their activity, and spewed sparks into the smoky air. Several drums began to beat in the dark parameter of the clearing. Women joined the men, and children joined the adults.

It reminded Adams of the scene in Lord of the Flies when the hunters reenacted their chase and frenzied killing of the pig.

Someone’s going to die soon, he thought, still unafraid for himself. It was Sequoia he feared for. They believed she was a witch. They banned her from the tribe, and then went out to hunt her down. She was the target of this rage and insanity.

It depended on him. Her life was in his hands. And whatever was necessary, Adams braced himself to save her.

The drums stopped as suddenly as they had begun. All of the tribe members fell to the ground where they were. The tall man emerged from the darkness and walked into the circle close to the fire to be seen by all. Half his face was painted white, and the other, black. He carried a long spear, adorned with white feathers from the stone blade to the end of the shaft. He slowly thumped the ground with the spear three times.

“Unelahuhi approaches on the light of the stars,” he said. “She will judge the pale man. She will prove his metal, and as a result I will know how to deal with Sequoia. Bring him here and truss him.”

Adams was cut down from the horizontal pole and crumpled to the ground. Two men grabbed wither arm and dragged him to the tall man. Other men brought three poles which were about as long as Adams was tall. Two were crossed and midpoints, forming an x. The third pole was lashed at the crossing, and extended backwards, the opposite end thrust into the ashes at the edge of the fire, supporting the x at a slight tilt backwards.

Adams was lashed to the cross, his wrists on the upper ends, and his ankles to the lower ends. The fire behind him, Adams struggled against the poles, but it was useless.

The tall man approached the bound prisoner, and pulled a large stone knife from a leather sheath. The blade was glassy in the firelight, chipped to a fine edge. The tall man cut away the leather shirt top Adams wore as though it was paper.

“Who are you?” the tall man asked.

“My name is Kyle Wyndham Adams.”

“Where do you come from, Kyle Wyndham Adams? Where is your tribe?”

“I come from far in the future. Beyond your grandchildren’s grandchildren. Beyond the edge of the sky. Beyond the light of the moon. Beyond all dreams you will ever dream.”

“Are you a Wanderer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your blood is silver if you are.” The tall man made a thin cut from Adams’ right breast across his chest and down to his left side. Adams bit his tongue from crying out. He could feel his blood rush out from the cut and run down his belly to his thighs.

The tall man looked intently at the blood.

“Unh! It is red.”

He then made a second cut from Adams’ left breast the opposite way across his chest, forming a large x.

Sweat poured from Adams’ face and neck, and his clenched jaws and taut neck and shoulders belied the pain. He was quiet.

The tall man took his finger and traced it across Adams’ blood swathed chest. He looked at his finger in the firelight.

“Unh. Once again, it is red. If you are not a Wanderer, what are you? A coyote? The dog that follows Sequoia? If I put my knife where the bloodlines cross, will you not change into your true spirit? Yes, you will — or you will die!”

With that, the tall man took the knife in both hands and placed its tip at the intersection of the bloody x. He closed his eyes and tilted head back to look at the full moon that bathed the clearing in its blueish light. He inhaled deeply, and tensed every muscle in his neck and shoulders, arms and hands.

“FATHER! NO!” came a loud scream from where Sequoia still hung from the pole.

Adams blinked, and everything slowed to a near stand-still. He felt his spirit pull away from his body as before, yet as before, his body was still alive.

As he rose with the sparks of the fire, he looked where Sequoia was tied. Her body seemed to hang in the air, and as he watched, Sequoia twisted and jerked frantically against the pole, breaking free. At that instance, she turned toward the tall man where Adams’ body still struggled against crossed poles, the tall man’s knife beginning to prick at the center of the bloody x.

She leaped, jumping incredibly high and towards the two. As she soared, Sequoia’s body became a blur. It shifted from that of a woman into a large black cat. A puma? A leopard?

The tall man dropped his knife and turned towards the beast, which crashed into him, throwing him to the ground. Then, turning and slashing Adams’ body free from the rack, the animal bore him on its back and disappeared into the dark forest.

Above the fray, Adams’ essence tried to follow the escaping animal and his body. Instead, he was forced higher into the dark night, and shot up into the air high enough to see the surrounding countryside bathed in moonlight.

He continued up. To the stratosphere. To the edge of the galaxy. Into deep space, all the while wondering what he had seen and what had happened.

Far into the deep he finally stopped and turned, and began the journey back, feeling his arms and legs drag behind. Back to the galaxy. Back to the stratosphere.

Finally, he came back down to the curving switchback road and the sports car, where he leaned in the direction of each turn, ascending to the top of the mountain.

His head and face throbbed with his pulsing heartbeat. He tried, but could not grasp or clarify the instantaneous flash — a dream that was blurred to the point he could not bring it into focus.

Adams parked and carefully picked his way on a well-worn trail that snaked through the rock formations until he stood — nearly alone — on an outcropping of rocks.

The sun had begun its slow descent in the western sky. All along the undulating rises of mountains separated by darkening valleys were hundreds of mountain homes. He sighed and wondered what it might have looked like a thousand years before. When everything was unspoiled and pristine.

A slight gust of wind whipped over the outcrop and blew into his face, and there was the faint aroma of a campfire, wafting up from the valley below.

Kyle Wyndham Adams blinked.

§ § § § §

Author’s note:

The Blink is intended to be one of five stories compiled under The Sugar Chronicles. Each story will be inconclusive in many ways if considered separately, which may frustrate you as a reader. Be patient. Each story will be woven from similar themes and characters. Or perhaps ancestors or descendants of characters. If you are reading this and are a writer, you know how coveted are comments, and not of the “I loved it” or opposite reaction variety. The whys are critical for any writer to hear. Why did you like a particular character — or not like the character? Was the dialogue convincing? Were there challenges in terms of storyline, credibility, consistency?

— LSM

The Blink, Chapter Three

2 Jun

The Blink

Chapter Three

By L. Stewart Marsden

 

They were bound to a pole that rested on their shoulders, hands crossed and lashed with leather thongs above the pole. Sequoia walked behind Adams. The men walked along either side and at the front and rear of the processional. They carried their spears at the ready. None spoke.

They followed a feint trail through the woods. Where the pathway was too narrow, the side guards waited, and caught up when it widened.

Adams wished for the urge to blink, and even tried to make it occur by will, but nothing happened.

I suppose this is what is to be, he thought to himself.

The group crossed the creek several times, wading through the water. Adams wondered if his moccasins would begin to tighten on his feet and wear blisters on his heels. He figured that was the least of his worries, and then realized he wasn’t worried for some reason.

The lead warrior suddenly made a loud whoop sound, which was moments later echoed deeper in the woods by another voice. The trail broadened, and spilled into a large clearing. At the center of the clearing was a large fire, crackling with nearly transparent flames in the noontime sun.

About the clearing were huts built of wooden pole frames and covered with various animal skins.

Old men and women and children were busy about the camp in various industry, from weaving to cleaning skins to preparing fish to eat. Large bulbous bags hung from tree limbs, and dripped water slowly. They did not appear to Adams to be skins, but perhaps the bladders of large animals. Perhaps deer or even bear.

The tribe came alive with talk and noise when the group entered the clearing. Many drew near and spat derisively at Sequoia. Some threw small stones and sticks at her. The guards made no effort to stop the assaults, but pulled the two to the edge of the clearing, and tied the cross stick horizontally to a birch, making sure the two captives were secure and unable to escape.

Their chatter was initially merely jabber to Adams. He tried to blink once more, and as if wax had fallen from his ears, he was able to hear and comprehend.

“The witch!”

“And her coyote!”

“Sequoia will see her end tonight. It is a full moon.”

“Do not say her name! You will incur the wrath of the night demons!”

“Look how pale her dog is!”

The two were poked and prodded by those who timidly approached and quickly reached out, as if expecting either Sequoia or Adams to suddenly free themselves from their binding and leap out.

Chatter rose and fell as more of the tribe entered the clearing from the woods and the lodges. Soon no distinction could be made of the chorus of voices, which quickly grew louder.

A tall man entered the clearing from one of the lodges. He wore a tall headdress fashioned of a broad leather band across his forehead with plumage from several different fowls. Across the man’s chest were scars that appeared to be part of some design — straight lines running diagonally and parallel from each pectoral muscle across to his chest to his abdomen from either side.

The man strode with purpose to where Sequoia and Adams were tied. His expression was not anger, but stern. His looked at Sequoia and she bowed her head. There was a strange mixture in his eyes, as of disappointment as well as love. That turned to curiosity when he looked at Adams, and stepped towards him.

“You are very pale,” he uttered in a low, gravely voice. “Where is your tribe?”

“I have no tribe — at least not in this place or time.”

The man looked closely into Adams’ eyes, as if to peer into his soul.

“Are you a Wanderer?”

Somehow Adams knew exactly what he meant. “Yes. You have seen other wanderers?”

“I have heard of them. My father and his father and their fathers were aware of wanderers. You are the first I have seen.”

“What will you do with me?”

“You will see tonight.”

“And Sequoia?”

“Her fate is yet to be known.”

“You will kill her?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you are truly a wanderer, or something else.”

“What something else?”

“Ah, I think you know.” He turned away and motioned to the crowd to disperse. Two of the men with spears crouched down to either side of the bound prisoners.

The tall man motioned to one of the children to give Sequoia and Adams something to drink, and one of the water bladders was brought for them to drink from.

The water was cool, and tasted slightly of offal. Adams guessed it was an acquired taste, and resisted an immediate urge to vomit. He knew he needed water, however different the taste.

The pole supporting Sequoia and Adams had been tied to the birch at a height that he was flat footed, but because she was much shorter, dangled a few inches above the ground, her weight on her tied wrists.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a whisper.

She groaned in reply, “What is ‘okay?'”

“It means are you well?” He realized how saying something and getting someone to understand what you mean is a challenge. Especially in this particular situation.

“I am not well. The leather cuts into my wrists. But I can tolerate this. I have known worse pain.”

“What are they going to do to you tonight?”

“As the Wise Man said, that depends on you.”

“How?”

“You will be tested.”

“For what?”

“To see if you are a Wanderer, or something else.”

“How will they test me?”

“We should not talk of this any longer. You need to rest your mind and your spirit. That will be the best way to prepare for what is to come.”

“But what is to come?”

“You will see.”

 

§ § §

The Blink, Chapter Two, continued further

31 May

The Blink

Chapter Two, continued further

By L. Stewart Marsden

 

Three things happened in that instant: a tomahawk, thrown by one of the men who were chasing them, stuck with a loud thud into the trunk of a white birch tree just to the right of Adams head; he grabbed Sequoia’s hand and they were transported immediately to the top of a rock outcrop; and, he understood her.

They stood amazed. She, that they had suddenly escaped to the mountain top, as if by magic. He, that he could understand her.

“You are a god!” she declared in awe, dropping to her knees and bowing low to the ground.

“No! I’m no god!” He touched her on her shoulders and urged her to stand, but she remained trembling at his feet.

“I saw you come to earth yesterday! You were like a burning star, and came down near the mountain of the old man. In the sudden storm you came.”

“Sequoia — I promise you — I am just like you. I am flesh and blood. No god!”

“How is it you speak Cherokee?” She looked up, but averted her eyes from his.

“How is it you speak English?”

“English?”

“You’re speaking it now. It’s my native language. My tongue.”

“Cherokee. You are speaking it now. It’s my native language. It’s my tongue.”

Adams crouched down to her level and took her face in his hands.

“I don’t know how to explain this. Whether I’m speaking Cherokee, or you’re speaking English? I guess it really doesn’t matter. The fact is that we understand each other.”

She nodded. “You made this happen. You are a god!”

He pulled her up to stand.

“Okay. I can understand why you think that. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure if I don’t have some special powers. I don’t know how to explain it, though. Honest, I’m just your ordinary old guy, who is as confused as you are.”

“You are not old. You are a young man.”

“Thanks, Dear — but I’m sixty-six.”

She laughed. She took his hand and held it palm up.

“That is not the hand of an old man.”

He looked. It was true! Somehow his hands weren’t covered in loose skin, or overly wrinkled. He drew his hands to his face, and felt smooth, taut skin.

“Here!” She pointed at a small rock indentation that held water. He looked into the mirror-like water, and saw not the old Kyle Adams — but a young man, instead.

“Je-sus! What the hell is going on here?”

“Who is Jesus? What is ‘hell’?” Sequoia asked innocently.

Adams laughed, “Honey, I don’t have the time nor the inclination!”

He walked out to the edge of a rock ledge and swept his arm broadly.

“You see all of this? All these mountains and trees?”

She nodded.

“Yesterday — which, come to think of it, is really probably many tomorrows away — there were roads winding through the forests and up and down the mountains. There were houses and buildings and farmlands cut out of everything you see! The sky was hazy and not nearly as blue! There were many, many, many people and buildings and cars and airplanes as far as you looked.”

“I don’t understand,” she said somewhat fearfully. “None of that was here yesterday. It’s been like this since I can remember. It’s always been like this. It will always be like this. And what is a car and an airplane?”

“You have no idea! No, it won’t always be like this! It will be different, I promise you! And all of this,” he gestured again, “will no longer be. It will be gone. There will not even be a memory of it.”

“You speak crazy.”

“I guess it seems like that.”

“If you are not a god, how did we get away from the men of my tribe? How did we suddenly appear up here? Where did you come from? You were nearly naked when I found you. Why is your skin so very pale? What tribe are you from?”

“I can’t answer all your questions, and the ones I can answer, you won’t believe me. Hell, I don’t even believe it! Here is what I know — somehow I came to be here in your time. I — I blinked. And it all happened in the blink of an eye!” He laughed at himself. “So, for some reason I don’t understand, I was taken out of my world and my time and place here — in your world and in your time. Let me ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you out here alone? Why are you not with your tribe? Why were those men after us? Are they from your tribe?”

She turned her face from him and looked out over the sea of hills and mountains, fading like waves into the distance.

“I was banished from my tribe,” she said in a low voice.

“Banished? Why?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Sure you can. I just told you about me. You at least owe it to me.”

“Yes, I owe you much. You saved my life.”

“What? You think those guys were going to kill you? I thought they were after me!”

“Yes, they were going to kill me.”

“What about me?”

“And you, as well.”

“Why?”

“Because you are with me.”

“Sequoia, why were they going to kill you? Tell me!”

“They believe I am an a-tsa-s-gi-li.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know that word. What is an a-tsa-s-gi-li, please?”

Before she could answer, several men emerged from the brush surrounding the summit and encircled the pair. They bore spears, which they held at the ready, the stone tips pointed at Sequoia and Adams. This time, there was no urge to blink.

“An a-tsa-s-gi-li is a witch,” she finally said.

§ § §