Inn Omen Formation

Story formation topic.

The swinging creak of the iron door against the stone pavement sent the little prince cringing back into his father.
"Never show fear, my son." Was the response as he was gently prodded onward down the damp corridor. For years the boy had longed to be allowed down into the deepest recesses of the castle dungeons. It was a priviledge he and his sister had only dreamt. They clung to snatches of gossip, gleaned every whisper, peered with eager eyes into every slow shutting door. The upper levels were open to all of court. Political prisoners, petty criminals and the like were easily accessible and equally as dull. But none save the sovereign himself was permitted regular entrance to the lower levels containing the mad, the uncontrollable and the secret. On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, the king had at last called the crown prince to him. It was time he knew the secrets of his lineage. Now Roderick wasn't so certain he wanted to know. Perhaps it was far better to go on making up secrets and stories about the lowest caves of his home...perhaps it was safer....

"This way." The king turned him gently down toward a inky black stairway that seemed to have no end. After an eternity of steps, they came to a small room no larger than a horse stall. At the far end, scarcely visible by the light of the kings' solitary candle was a sort of well covered by a thick iron grate. Embedded into the stone around it ran heavy iron chains. The boy backed quickly towards the steep little stairs. "Father, what is this?" He asked, terrified. What could be so secret? So dangerous as to merit such a place? His father seized his wrist and practically dragged him forward.

"You need not fear, Roderick. You must show courage. You will be king and lord of this land one day and with that priviledge comes a very unique ownership. You have heard many a tale of the great wars of our fathers. You have heard the ancient stories of the world conqueror, our great ancestor Ra`, king of hordes who defeated a race of monsterous creatures more terrible than the devil himself that had come to feed on our people. You know these stories well, do you not?"

"Yes, Father." He replied quietly. He knew and loved these stories but he could see no connection to this dismal place. Unless....

"Yes, Roderick." His father read his thoughts. "One of those horrible beasts yet lives. The great king brought it back from his wars and kept it as a sign. A sign to all the world that we are yet mighty. We reign and conquer all who dare oppose us. This creature is not weakness but a symbol of our strength. I show you this now my son because it is time, it is time that you know and understand the greatness of your heritage. Each of our lineage has fallen under the magnificent shadow of Ra`and so shall you. You must prove yourself worthy of your birth, of your right. See here, now what high a bar has been set..."

As he spoke the king drew out a second candle, lit it, pulled his son to the very mouth of the opening and cast the light down into its' maw. Roderick could not help but lean forward in anticipation as the light grewer smaller and smaller. Just as the faintest hint of confusion and dissappointment clouded his mind there was a brilliant flash of light and heat that shot alarmingly upwards. Roderick was thrown backwards into the air by seering green vision, the boy cried out as a wave of terror, pain and anger drowned him completely in the very instant before he struck the cold ground. His eyes jerked open upon the impact and all was dark, all quiet...save a distant fluttering sound from the depths. Roderick attained his footing just as his father re-lit his now stub of a candle. The gasping crown prince glared at the iron cage. "I will be worthy, Father..." He breathed. "I will be worthy."

“ALERT! COLLISION IMMINENT!”

    Her own voice shouted at her over the speakers. Her eyes leapt to the screen, showing a rear view of her vessel. All too clear was the torpedo streaking toward her.
   
    “Shield strength remaining?” she asked.

   “SHIELD POWER AT TWENTY-SEVEN PERCENT.”

    She smacked the console in frustration. There wasn’t enough time! It was already slowing her down, having to use the ship’s voice interface; she couldn’t afford to leave the helm panel, not with torpedoes flying at her from every direction.

    “Has the torpedo completed a 4-D lock?”

    The answer was immediate.

    “WEAPONS SYSTEM HAS COMPLETED A THREE DIMENSIONAL LOCK. FOURTH DIMENSIONAL LOCK WILL BE COMPLETED IN FOURTEEN RELATIVE SECONDS.”

    For the first time since the chase had started, a smile crossed the pilot’s face.

    “Perfect.”

    Grasping the temporal handbrake with both hands, she slowly inched it foreword, all too aware that the jostling and sparks flying from the walls could make this a fatal manoeuvre. Slowly, ever so slowly the ship crept foreword in time, until she was just a few seconds ahead of the missile. Watching with relief as it vanished from the view screen; she breathed a sigh of relief.

    “How long until the torpedo course-corrects?”

    “ONE-HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY RELATIVE SECONDS UNTIL THE WEAPON RE-ORIENTS ITSELF.”

    She nodded. At least she’d bought herself that much time. She shook her hands out, trying to clear the ache from gripping the controls for so long. Her eyes danced rapidly over the control room, trying to find something that would set her mind along the lines of an idea. There was nothing left to use. All of the scramblers had already been fired, and they were the entirety of her offensive capabilities. Her shield would recharge eventually, but in two minutes it would barely cushion the blow of the missile at all. Her eyes fell upon the coordinate input interface. She raised a brow.
   
    “What’s the nearest habitable planet?”

    A few of her precious seconds passed as the scanners purred.

    “PLANET: CYFAS, INDIGENOUS SPECIES: VARIOUS, TECHNOLOGY LEVEL: THREE, TEMPERATURE: RANGING FROM ARCTIC TO TROPICAL. FOURTH PLANET OF THE RAHNE SYSTEM.”

    She did some quick mental calculations.

    “Any intelligent life forms close enough to standard to warrant chameleon insertion?”

    “AFFIRMATIVE. MOST NUMEROUS INTELLIGENT SPECIES VIRTUALLY INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM STANDARD.”

    She nodded. Finally, she had a chance. If her luck would hold for one moment, she’d make it out of this.

    “Plot course for the nearest hamlet, near the outskirts, non-d-mat approach.”

    Her own face looking down at her seemed a bit perturbed by this.

    “BE ADVISED, NON-DEMATERIALIZATION APPROACH IS UNADVISED DUE TO MULTIPLE COMBAT CRAFT CONVERGING ON THIS VESSEL.”

    She was losing her patience.

    “Do it!”

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    “Come on, girl.”

    He pulled the stumbling ox along. He could understand her weariness. With the harvest on in earnest, no one could afford to waste one precious minute of daylight. Since an hour before sunup, he had been labouring in the fields, trying to get as much in as he could before winter set in. It was not easy. The life of a farmer never was, but his tasks were doubled now that he was working alone. Not that his father had been able to do much in those last few years of his life. Crippled as he was both in mind and in body, it was a wonder he had managed to feed himself, much less shoulder any of the work. As much as he may have hated to admit it, it was a relief when his father had died. Life was hard enough without a body to feed that could not lend a hand. But now that he was alone, he found that there were entirely different problems to occupy his mind. Problems like loneliness. Waking and sleeping, working and walking, sometimes he went for days without uttering a sound, save for the occasional curse when something did not go as planned. Sometimes he thought he would go mad if he did not see another face! He had once spotted Kira, one of the town of Haverstead’s champions kept on retainer by Lord Faliminion, flying across the horizon and had nearly sobbed for joy. After that, he made a point of going into the village at least once every other week. He knew it was a foolish luxury, but it was either that or go mad. He was a practical man. He had seen Haverstead’s one mad beggar and it was not a position to be envied.

    He placed the ox into the paddock, making sure to lock the gate tightly. She had gotten out once, and he had lost an entire day hunting for her. In the end, it had been Ellywick, another of the town’s champions, who had found the beast, which really only made matters worse, as he’d felt obliged to pay her for her trouble.

    He leaned back, popping his back and cracking his neck, debating whether to bother with supper. He shook his head, answering his unspoken question. No. He needed sleep more then he needed food. He could eat tomorrow. He trudged toward the door, head down, and shoulders drooping. Tomorrow would be the same as the day before it, the same as the day after. Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever would. If he had turned, he might have glimpsed a ball of fire falling from the night sky.

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    This was a very bad idea. Non-D-Mat landings were tricky under perfect circumstances, but here and now, this was one accident short of suicide. Her eyes flicked back and forth over the dials, more to absorb their information than to correct anything. At this point the coordinates were set, if any piece of equipment failed there’d be nothing left of her but scattered atoms across three different timelines. The engine CPS dial was dipping dangerously into the dark zone, her rotometer was spinning so fast she couldn’t even see the symbols on it, and she didn’t dare even look at her exterior temperature. She could tell by how uncomfortably warm it was getting that her shields weren’t absorbing much, if any, of the entry heat caused by the friction of the atmosphere against the hull. She had to make a conscious effort to unclench her teeth and hands as the vessel rocked back and forth, jerking and bouncing roughly. Under optimal circumstances, she would’ve already deployed a stasis field right after she’d input the coordinates. It was the only way of insuring that the pilot wouldn’t be injured by the violence of atmospheric entry. As it was, she just couldn’t. It had been proven time and time again that the response time of a sentient being was far superior to even the most advanced of AI systems. She didn’t think that there was anything she could do if something went wrong, but one could never be sure in these situations.

    As if in response to her thoughts, the ship suddenly canted onto it’s side, increasing it’s atmospheric drag and causing sparks to fly from the helm panel directly into her face. Instinctively, she jerked back, loosing her grip on the console, sliding back and crashing into the wall. Pain shot through her as her shoulder blade collided with one of the pillars set into the walls. Grinding her teeth and hoping she hadn’t damaged anything that would require extensive medical care, she pushed off the wall and lurched toward the Navigation Panel. Shielding her eyes from the ever present shower of sparks flying from the control boards, she latched hold of a horizontal bar set in the panel and slowly twisted it, reorienting the vessel so that the bottom was falling foremost, presenting the smallest profile to the g-forces tearing at her. She rounded the console in a strange spinning motion, keeping one hand fastened to the panel as she crossed to the Mechanical Panel. She grabbed two levers, and pressed them together, her arms burning with the strain. A high-pitched squealing filled her ears as the ship tried to fight the titanic forces pulling it inexorably downward. She shouted trying to milk every last ounce of strength from her weary arms.

    With a deafening bang, the tensioners on the levers broke and her knuckles slammed into each other with all the force she had applied to the locking down mechanism. She screamed, feeling one of her fingers break and two others pop out of joint. As she instinctively jerked her hands back from the console, the vessel jerked again, she lost her balance. Her arms pin wheeling, she slammed into the floor. She felt her shoulder grind where she had hit it before. She gasped.

    “WARNING: ABOVE!” her voice shouted at her.

    Her eyes snapped to the ceiling as a silver beam crashed down toward her. She rolled just in time to avoid it. Although she’d gotten her body away from the beam, her hair hadn’t entirely made it. She yanked and pulled but it wouldn’t come free. This was it. She’d done all she could do. The rest she left to the tides of time.

   “Stasis field up!” she shouted, hoping the audio receivers could pick her voice out of the crashing and confusion.

    “ACKNOWLEDGED.”

    It was the most beautiful word she’d ever heard.

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    The world has ended.

    That was the first thought that crossed his mind. The small wooden house in which he had lived since the day he was born had shaken like it was caught up in a hurricane. A sound of wind had rushed through his fields stronger than he had ever heard. Then he had seen a light down in the southern-most part of the field. The light of fire.

    In an instant, he envisioned the entire harvest going up in flames. Without a thought, he dashed out of the house and pounded down the path through the field. He had no idea what he was going to do. His fields were much too far from the lake to even consider hauling water up from the village. Fire was a terrifying danger in a community that lived by it’s produce. Granted, they did not have as much trouble as the drier areas away to the north, but it was still a very real danger. One he prayed he would not have to do battle with tonight.

    As he rounded on the sight of the explosion, a strange sight greeted his eyes. Instead of the raging fire that he had expected to see there were a few small, flickering patches of flame scattered about. A long, narrow trench had been gauged into the earth, starting a few hundred yards from his field and ending close to the centre where he stood now. At the end of the trench was an item that was so out of place in his field that for a moment, he though that he might still be dreaming.

    Laying on it’s side, one end buried in the soil, was a pearly white cylinder. Even though it must have fallen from unimaginable heights, there was not a single scratch on it’s surface. He looked around, suddenly feeling very nervous. He did not consider himself to be a superstitious man, but he had seen his fair share of magic, and when a giant pearl drops from the sky without so much as a scorch mark, onto what was almost the exact centre of his field, he considered it to be a bad omen.  For a moment, he considered running back to the house and getting his bow. It was not the best of weapons, but it was better than nothing. He took a few steps closer to the strange object, somehow drawn to it. As he looked closer at it, he noticed that it was somehow hard to pin down it’s dimensions. He could not seem to see where it ended and where it began. The outlines were wavy, indistinct, as if it were there, and yet, not there at the same time. He also noticed the distinct lack of heat emanating from the object. He stretched out his hand, almost touching it. Not even warm. Slowly, he placed his palm flat on it’s surface. It was cold! He jerked his hand back as if burned. How was this possible? It had to be magic. He backed away, barely managing to hold himself back from running full-speed all the way to the village. He would get the champions. It was, after all, there job to deal with the unexplained. They would know what to do. He would, no doubt, be thanked profusely by the town council, for bringing this to their attention, perhaps even given a small amount of gold for his trouble. The pearl from the skies had, after all, crushed a good portion of his crop.

    He had made up his mind to do just that, when a section of the cylinder sunk deeper into the craft, and slid away, revealing a glowing interior so bright, he couldn’t see what the inside of the object consisted of. He jumped and froze, afraid now to go and to stay. So, he just froze, hoping whatever it was would not notice him. Suddenly, a shining, complicated device composed of some sort of silvery metal flew out of the opening and landed a few feet from him. He flinched, but stayed where he was. A few seconds passed, and he heard a rustling and movement inside the pearl.

    It must be hollow, he realized.

    A hand abruptly clutched at the edge of the opening, then another. He watched, fascinated as the hands flexed, then pulled a golden head into view. He realized the head was not in fact made of gold; it was covered in golden hair. Could it be a human in there? In one quick movement, the pearl’s occupant heaved itself out onto the churned up ground. He stepped closer, his curiosity overcoming his temerity. The Pearl Man, as he had subconsciously dubbed the object’s occupant, seemed to be dressed in some flexible golden armour, highlighted here and there with dark red symbols. Slowly, the Pearl Man stood, tossing his long hair back to clear his vision, and looked for the first time at the trembling human watching. The human suddenly realized that the Pearl Man was in fact a Pearl Woman. And she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had noticed her hair first, but her eyes were far more stunning: a crystal blue, shot through with silver. As she looked at him with the same intensity with which he viewed her, he felt as if his entire life were under scrutiny, as if every detail of his existence was being held up and examined. He stood still, waiting for her to finish her unnerving study.

    When she seemed to be finished observing him and had started looking at her surroundings, he slowly raised his hand. Her head snapped back toward him, with a look that was not exactly threatening, but was definitely wary. Holding his hand out before him, and hoping that she understood it to be a peaceful gesture, he asked, slowly,

    “What are you?”

    She cocked her head sideways.

    “Aldhafislar dhyoal?”

    He blinked.

    “All-the-fish-are what?”

    She gave a frustrated sigh.

    “Wealdhafislar dhyoal valananzhiff?”

    This stream of gibberish from one who had fallen from the sky was the last thing he had expected. He had assumed anyone who came from the skies must in some manner be associated with the gods and therefore would be full of wisdom and ancient power. Instead, he was trying to understand a language that seemed to consist entirely of soft consonants and ridiculously long words. He tried again.

    “My name is Cailean. This is my field that you destroy-… uh, but that does not matter.  Can I help you? What are you doing here?”

    She seemed as confused as he did.

    “Al-Kay-Lin? Aldhapanvo Kay-Lin-al mosaniil? Isdhapanfash vudha setosonil. Eltoibedh vitva seerfoi vudha. Tatoiup oorfoi vudha fa panmel dhyodha xifathan.”

    Now, he was getting annoyed. If this woman from the stars was going to have to audacity to scare the living daylights out of him and crush half his crop, she could at least provide an interesting tale!  He took a few steps foreword now. He had had all that he was going to take.

    “Who are you?!”
 
    Her face grew more intense for just a moment, and then she tackled him.

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    Obviously, this man was insane. She had anticipated that crashing from the sky in a large white cylinder might not be the most calming gesture, but she had thought that as soon as they could establish a line of communication there should be no problem explaining the situation to him.

    She had been astounded at how similar her first encounter with the indigenous species had been to standard. The man looked exactly like a man on her home planet! Her plans for negotiation had been completely disrupted by how ordinary the man was. It was all well and good to hear that a group of aliens were close enough to her to blend in easily, but seeing them face to face was another matter. And yet, he was so different! He was dressed in a simple garment of what appeared to be some manner of wool. His face was deeply tanned, with a slight cover of facial hair. Although she had intended to launch immediately into an explanation in order to stave off any possible attack, she had been so put off balance by the sense of alienness surrounding him, that she had spent her first few minutes just staring at him.

   Then she had begun to study her surroundings in a bit more detail. He had raised his hands in what she assumed was a gesture of goodwill on this planet, taken a deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak. And she had gotten the shock of her life. In a voice that quivered in trepidation, he said, “Beth a yw chi?”  

    She had cocked her head to the side, hoping against hope that she had misheard.

    “What did you say?”

    He made some warbling sound with his mouth that sounded rather like a bird trying to imitate speech.

    "Do you not speak standard?"

    “Fy enw I yw Cailean. Mae hyn yn fy maes I chi dinistrio… uh, nid yw hynny’n bwysig. Alla I eich helpu chi? Beth wyt ti’n ei wneud yma?”

    He seemed to stress the word “Cailean”, so she decided to start there.

    “Cailean? Is that where we are? Is that what this land is called? I meant no harm, I need help…” She trailed off as she realized he couldn’t understand a single word she had said.
 
    Then it hit her. The translation circuit! Between the violence of the crash and the mental confusion she was experiencing it must have been knocked out of sync. Which left her in a very bad spot. She had been prepared to attempt communication with an alien that spoke the same language as her, but this was impossible! How was she to transfer ideas when they had absolutely no common ground, no point of reference with which to communicate? It was impossible!

    For a moment, she despaired. Her entire plan had hinged on her being able to find a confidant who was native to this world quickly; otherwise, she had no one to reverse the insertion process. And might spend the rest of her days in complete ignorance of all that she was, happily oblivious, convinced that she had always lived here and would someday die here. The very thought repulsed her. No, if she was to attempt chameleon insertion, she had to have one person who knew, who could save her from it. But how could she communicate with an alien?
    She couldn’t speak to him; she’d already seen how fruitless that would prove. She could attempt some sort of sign language, but how was she to know how he would interpret her hand motions? The upraised, open hand, the universal gesture of peace and goodwill might be a death threat on this backwards planet.

    A crack of thunder split the still night air, jarring her out of her contemplation. In the distance somewhere in the upper atmosphere, a group of ethereal lights, swept back and forth across the night sky. They were almost here. Her time was growing short.

    Her mind raced. What could she do? There was just not time… no time… no time! She looked at the alien in front of her. Cranial transference! It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but she had no choice. She readied herself, bringing everything she would need to the forefront of her mind. She took a deep breath, then tackled him.

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    The force of her leap threw both of them backwards. They fell, rolling down the small mound of dirt sprayed up by her crash, finally coming to a stop as they rolled into the upright stalks surrounding them. The woman ended up on top, raising her head, she looked into his eyes, and he began to reconsider any defence that he had been planning. Then, without any sort of warning, she slammed her forehead against his.

    His vision exploded into stars at the force of the impact. He didn’t know if this was an attack, but, if so, it was extremely effective. He was completely incapacitated.
 
    Then, suddenly, he knew. He just knew. A barrage of images, smells, sounds, words, and knowledge. A world filled with shining metal, pulses of energy connecting each city in a glowing spider’s web. A battle, the likes of which he had never before imagined, where time itself had been forged into a weapon by hands older then the foundations of the world. Cylinders, identical to the one that had fallen into his field, tumbling through the stars where the mysteries of the cosmos were laid bare. A rout. The woman… Elysia was her name, had run.

    All through time and space she had been chased by them: a dark, ominous blur in the back of her mind, one too horrendous to look at directly. She had run here. This was her last hope. She could not fight, so she must hide.

    Somehow, in this wordless transfer of information, she had conveyed the urgency, the desperation, the entire spectrum of emotion that surrounded her current predicament. She needed someone to help her hide. A compatriot, someone who knew her secret, because, once this had been done, she would be hidden so well, not even she would know where she was.

    Latching onto his face with surprisingly cold fingers, she looked into his eyes, searching for understanding, for some sign that he knew. He nodded. She would understand. She looked at him, a gaze so piercing he could scarcely look at it. Then she returned the nod.

    She stood, coming to her feet with a smooth, rolling motion, and cast about for the object that she had thrown out of the vessel before her. It took her a matter of seconds to locate the shining metal in the dirt. Snatching it up, she examined the glowing symbols dancing across it’s face.

    She spoke again in that strange dialect of hers and glanced up at him, trepidation written across her features. She was frightened, as was he, but there was nothing else for it.

    Another deep, resounding boom echoed across the sky, far closer then the one before. They looked up. The lights were coming on with great speed. Their eyes locked. Their time had run out. She stretched her hand forward and he took it without hesitation. She took the device in her other hand, and, pressing a small lever hidden in it’s side, the object unfolded into something that loosely resembled a crown. A small, hollow spike slid out of it’s side. She pulled his hand to it, and, with a quiet hiss, it slid into his palm. The device hummed, then emitted a tone.

    “Panvo hufandha esosoidhi,” she said quietly.

    Then with a deep breath, she placed the device on her head.

     “Dhiban,” she whispered.

    Her breath came faster and faster, exploding from her lungs. She grasped the device in a white-knuckled grip, then slammed in the side panel.

    The device lit up like flash-powder, symbols racing across it’s surface. She began to scream. He jumped as the torrent of sound erupted from her mouth. He moved to tear the object from her head, but saw that she had it in a death-grip, pressed hard to her skull. He looked on, helpless to intervene. He would simply have to let it take it’s course.

    The scream was awful, like her soul was being ripped from her body. He saw her skin begin to ripple as though things were moving and changing beneath the surface. He looked up. The movements of the lights had changed. No longer were they sweeping back and forth in an almost luxurious motion. Now, their movements were far more jerky and rapid. It reminded him of a condor afraid of losing it’s prey. The device was working!

    The woman was weakening, her screams becoming fainter. The pain did not appear to have lessened, but she no longer had the strength to cry out. The symbols raced ever faster, streaking back and forth. The lights were growing closer.

    The woman sank to her knees, whimpering weakly as the device continued to glow and hum. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to give her some of his strength through physical contact alone. The lights were almost upon them, still jerking to and fro. He tried to cover her with his body. If her people could not defeat these predators, he knew he hadn’t a prayer, but, perhaps, he could somehow shield her from detection. He had no indication that such a tactic would work, but it was the best he had. The lights were almost upon them, their beams sweeping the edges of his field. He pulled her closer, wishing he had a weapon of some sort.

    Suddenly, the device emitted another tone, startling him, and she went limp in his arms. The device began to hiss, and the edges boiled away, dissolving into smoke. Soon, all that was left was a disc about the size of his palm, with a symbol etched into it’s surface:




   


    The lights froze. He instinctively held his breath, praying that they would just accept that they had lost their prey and leave. For a moment, all was still. Time was divided by each beat of his heart… Then the lights stirred, shifted,… and shot off into the night sky.

    He breathed a sigh of relief, then looked down at the woman now sleeping peacefully in his arms. He could not say exactly what had changed about her, but, somehow, she did not look quite so alien as before.

    A few miles away, he heard the town beginning to stir. He was surprised it had taken this long. Very few things went unnoticed in a town as small as Haverstead. He looked around at the destruction surrounding him. He did not know how he was going to explain this… He would have to bury the cylinder. He reached down and slipped the disk into his pocket. It was the key. It could restore her to… whatever she had been before. He scooped her into his arms and began the long walk back to his small house. He would keep it safe. He would keep her safe, hidden until the day when she had need of it. Of one thing he was certain: his life was going to be anything but monotonous.