A Spiral of Time: Book One of the Born Crystal Series

By K. V. Donato

When twenty-two-year-old Deacon Rainer takes a blow to the head from a falling tree limb, he has no idea that his life is about to change forever. In his pain, he sees a vision of his late father, who tells him of an alien invasion twelve years ago and of the quest Deacon will soon undertake. As he falls unconscious, he is immersed in a long and detailed dream. But is it something more?

Aphrodites Crystals, the children of Venus, are in the clutches of the malicious warlord Obsidian and his army of ferocious flesh eaters. Aress secret red legion, lurking inside the lava tubes of Mars, must race to rescue them in time. Although the Crystals trials are many, they will not give up. Later on, in the sanctuary of his new abode on Mars, a young Crystal named Onyx, comes to believe that there are Crystals residing on Earth. He wants to communicate with them, and fortunately the humans of Earth have sent an unmanned spaceship to Mars, allowing him just the opportunity he needs.

The first book in a series, this science fiction novel tells a tale of alien and human life, friendship, betrayal, love, and hate as a diverse group of beings fight the forces of evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532032561

K. V. Donato

K. V. Donatos love of literature and a chance encounter with sci-fi/fantasy novels as a teenager opened up a vast number of possibilities to her. The idea that she could marry storytelling and an inspiring dream into the first of a collective series grabbed her undivided attention.

Book preview

1

The Past Comes Calling

D eacon Rainer, a young man of twenty-two, yawned slowly while stretching his tanned arms across his strong, muscular frame. Grabbing a chainsaw and ladder out of the garden shed, Deacon carried them effortlessly across the backyard. It was eight o’clock in the morning and above Deacon, the sky was an endless blue with not a cloud in sight.

In the far corner of the yard stood an enormous old tree where hummingbirds kept up their insistent noise in the shade of its broad leaves. Hidden inside the twisted branches and creeping vines sat a weather-beaten tree house—a secret boyhood hideout Deacon’s father had built a long time ago. This was a private place, where he and his best buddy Jett, spent hours dreaming about becoming soldiers and defending their country. Wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps, Deacon smiled as he remembered persuading Jett to make a pledge with him all those years ago to join the military when they were old enough.

It was a beautiful morning and a perfect time to prune trees Deacon thought, as he squinted into the rising sun and caught his breath. He narrowed his dark eyes, raising a hand to shield his handsome face. In front of Deacon, the luminous rays struck the tangled green mass hanging wildly over the old wooden structure. A few minutes later he put the ladder on level ground, propping it against the sturdy trunk. Taking his water bottle out of his pocket, Deacon took a few gulps of water before he climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, Deacon gave the chainsaw starter cord a powerful tug, and on the second attempt the motor roared to life.

What Deacon first thought would be a simple task, had some hidden dangers which soon made an impact. It was painstaking work for the most part, slicing tree limbs and pulling at matted vines, with little progress to show for all his effort.

Suddenly, a sharp crack sounded above Deacon’s head. A large branch unexpectedly splintered and then fell, hitting him hard. This blow caused the ladder to slide out from under Deacon. The chainsaw fell from his hands as his body went sideways in the air. Deacon tumbled roughly to the ground amid branches and a jumble of leaves. The chainsaw, still spluttering, landing nearby tearing up the grass.

Time seemed to slow down and sounds were muffled as Deacon lay on the shredded foliage with one hand resting on his dark, wavy hair, his head throbbing painfully. A thin line of blood, mixed with sweat, trickled down the side of his square jaw.

A plume of dust quickly rose in the air, and smoky fumes curled around the chainsaw. Deacon sat up slowly, then rolled onto his left side and managed to switch off the motor. Through the haze and his blurred vision, Deacon glimpsed part of the white picket fence that hugged the curve of the property.

Yellow and orange flowers bordering the lawn, gave him an immediate impression that the grass around the fence was on fire. Deacon was certain there was a wooden bench somewhere nearby, but it was nearly impossible to find it. The bench seemed to be consumed by a woven mass of thick weeds engulfed in flames.

Deacon’s vision flickered as he was partially blinded by the bright sunlight. Still in a daze, he staggered to his feet. Bending down, he grasped the handle of the chainsaw with clenched fingers. The grass was thick with fallen leaves, and the smell of fuel still lingered in the air.

It took Deacon several minutes to find the wooden stairs leading to the back porch. Releasing the chainsaw, Deacon let it fall heavily to the ground. It presented no danger now with the motor switched off. Then, clinging to the railing with both hands and struggling to stay upright, Deacon somehow managed to call out, Mom! Are you there?

Lucy, Deacon’s mother, who was engrossed in reading a recipe book in the kitchen, looked up in alarm when she heard the cry for help. Lucy flung open the back door forcefully and shouted, Stay where you are! I’m coming! There was a rush of activity as Lucy ran along the back porch and bounded down the wooden steps. In a moment, she was at her son’s side.

Deacon! Lucy said sharply, trying to get him to concentrate. The desperate questions then came tumbling out—Are you all right? What happened? What did you do?

Deacon nodded, staring blankly, thankful she’d heard his voice. He was vaguely aware they were then somehow stumbling up the porch steps together. Once inside the house, Lucy steered him in the direction of the living room, where he soon found himself sitting awkwardly on the sofa.

Stay here, Deacon, and don’t move! Lucy ordered. I’ll get the first aid kit and some ice for that nasty bump. Lucy left the room, brushing back a wisp of chestnut hair that had escaped from behind her ear. As she hurried, Lucy let the hair fall before nervously twisting her ponytail into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.

Deacon carefully stretched his T-shirt up over his head and then bent down to unlace his shoes. He slowly let himself lie back on the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions and closing his eyes as if to sleep. Almost immediately, he sat upright again, startled by the sound of someone walking heavily up the front steps. Before he could grab his mother’s attention, there was a shrill ring from the doorbell, followed by an urgent pounding on the front door.

Who … is … it? Deacon’s question was slurred as the effects of his fall started to show.

A second brisk ring followed, with more insistent knocking. Obviously, whoever it was at the door was not going to go away.

Okay! I can hear you! Despite his head still swirling around from the fall, Deacon staggered to his feet and lurched over to the window. Peering through the lace curtains, he craned his neck to look out. The sight which met his eyes was one his mind told him was impossible.

Just then, a gust of cold wind rustled through the treetops, accompanied by a strange whispering-like sound. He held back the curtain with his hands raised, as if to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face, but his look was not of pleasure but of deep shock.

Deacon could just make out the shape of a man through the window. Surprisingly, the face was one he thought he recognized from the old family photographs on the mantelpiece. He lowered his hands, twisted around, then stumbled toward the front door.

Nothing could have prepared Deacon for the sight that greeted him as he opened the door on that Friday morning. Filtered sunlight created skittish shadows that drifted across the wooden veranda, while the cool wind still stirred the trees. Clouds had begun to appear in the sky. Deacon’s jaw dropped at the sight of what seemed to be his long-dead father standing before him.

Stunned and still dazed from the fall, Deacon had a thousand questions rush through his head. Trying hard to disguise his deep feelings of uncertainty and fear, Deacon finally managed to ask with some strength, "Dad! I thought you .…" The question remained unfinished and there was no answer.

Even though his heart was racing, his breathing heavy, and every muscle in his body tensed, Deacon managed to summon the courage to look directly at the man’s face. The striking Italian features seemed to command respect, and Deacon instantly recognised a family resemblance to himself.

Powerfully built, the man in front of Deacon looked to be well over six feet tall. Short, curly black hair framed a filthy tanned face. Deep wrinkles creased the corners of his dark, bloodshot eyes.

Unable to speak, Deacon instead took in the sight of the torn combat uniform, streaked from top to bottom with bloodstains and mud, right down to the dirty military boots with their laces tied so tight. The soldier standing in front of Deacon was certainly not dressed for a parade.

In an instant that seemed like madness, Deacon felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch the eerie figure, who reminded him of an actor from a war movie that Deacon had recently seen. A tingling sensation momentarily prickled the back of Deacon’s neck. Blinking hard, he rubbed his eyes as if to make the person disappear.

The man began whispering in low, husky tones, and everything else around Deacon started to fade from sight. His voice was touched with a deep vibration that Deacon hadn’t heard since childhood.

Another cold squall momentarily swept across the veranda. Deacon remained openmouthed, but now locked eyes with this person he knew instinctively to be his father, and tried to listen intently to what was being said.

"Deacon, I know this situation must be scaring you, but I want to assure you that you will come to no harm from me. I have little doubt that the family story you were told, said I was reported killed on active service when you were very young. Don’t ask me by what means or through what power, but somehow I have found my way back to this place and into your presence, so I can deliver a critically important message.

"What I am about to tell you is based on the single truth that, across the fabric of the cosmos, all life forms are linked together in some way.

"Because of this truth, I need you to understand that this part of the universe we call the solar system, has become the realm of chaos.

Twelve years ago, when you were just ten, I witnessed the passage toward the sun of what was an alien spacecraft moving outside the Earth’s atmosphere. The first planet to be conquered by the dark force travelling in this vessel was Mercury. Then, the planet Venus suffered a horrendous invasion that altered it forever. Thousands of Venus’s inhabitants were killed, but a small group of them did manage to escape being slaughtered when they were taken prisoner by a malicious warlord, known as Obsidian. Forcibly removed from their planet, these survivors of the conflict faced death or worse.

Deacon suddenly took a step back and leaned against the doorframe, feeling utterly confused. His father continued with the story, the words flowing like a song with a comforting beat, but with their meaning almost overwhelming Deacon completely.

"Deacon, my time here is short. You need to know that soon you and Jett will be called on to undertake a quest, which will be crucial for order to be restored amongst the planets. A Native American woman will guide you on this quest, providing you and Jett with the knowledge and wisdom necessary for you to succeed.

"What you will be asked to do, is to find the Sacred Keeper, a mysterious red creature, who is the guardian of certain small beings, described in many languages as the Crystals. The future of these Crystals depends on the Sacred Keeper, so when the call comes, you and Jett must find the Sacred Keeper and carry out the task given to you.

None of this has a certain outcome, but as your life is now exactly where it should be, within the spiral of time, the negative balance on the scales is moving much more strongly toward the positive.

Deacon gazed into his father’s face. When he finally managed to speak, Deacon’s voice betrayed his mixed feelings about what he had just heard. So that unknown spaceship I saw through my binoculars when I was ten, was real! A sense of relief flooded over Deacon as he recalled that eventful night many years before, the memory always having been an uncomfortable one.

Yes, son. The reply was reassuring. Once the coming storm is over, neither you nor Jett will remember how you actually made it through. And you won’t even be sure when the storm has finally passed. You need to know that there will be a sequence of events which will provide you with information to carry out your quest. The part you and Jett will play is vital in ensuring the survival of the Crystals.

His father continued, In time, I’m sure you will make an excellent leader like your grandfather, Colonel Rainer. I am eternally grateful to him for fulfilling the responsibilities of a father for you. He also has a significant part to play in the unfolding of your future.

The wind picked up again and the strange whispering sounds became louder. Deacon took his eyes off his father, moving his position slightly to get a better look up into the sky. His eyes grew wide as an intense ray of golden light streamed down through the white clouds.

In awe, he watched as a strange radiance slowly enveloped his father’s body. There was a moment when their eyes met. His father nodded his head and gave a salute, and then he vanished. Deacon was alone on the porch.

No, Dad! Don’t go! I have so many questions! Deacon pleaded and pleaded, tightly gripping the edge of the doorframe. For a moment, Deacon thought he could still hear his father speaking, although the words quickly faded as if someone was turning down the volume on a radio.

Finishing her preparations to treat her son’s injuries, Lucy heard Deacon’s muffled voice. She walked quickly down the hall, holding the first aid kit in one hand and ice cubes wrapped in a towel in the other. Looking ahead, Lucy saw a single flash of light at the front door.

Deacon, what was that?

Deacon, who was still standing in the doorway, took a deep breath and twisted round to look at his mother. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d just lost his father for a second time. A baffled expression crossed his face as he struggled to comprehend the full meaning of his father’s words. D-D-Dad! he stuttered.

A warm smile lit up Lucy’s thin face. She studied her son intently, checking his dark eyes. "I think you may have concussion, son. Come and sit down again.

"I don’t know who you thought you were talking with, but the reality is that your father’s been dead for years. Your dad remains deep in our hearts and his memory lives on—a wonderful man taken from us far too soon. Memories of him often come flooding back to me during the night. Most of all, I see him in you.

Now, come and sit on the sofa again. Let me clean up this blood and put some ice on that bump of yours. You need to get some rest. Jett’s coming over later this afternoon. He called a while ago, when you were outside.

Deacon let out a groan as she gently dabbed at the blood congealed on his forehead. He groaned again when she stuck a plaster firmly over the graze.

The more she looked at her son and the more she thought about his words, the more Lucy was convinced that Deacon might be telling the truth. She recalled several occasions when she believed she’d seen a vision of her late husband, but had dismissed these sightings as part of the grieving process.

Deacon stretched his long legs sideways over the russet-colored sofa. There was a mysterious glint in his mother’s blue eyes as she placed the ice pack carefully on his head. He watched her turn and walk back toward the kitchen. In the stillness, comforting sounds echoed throughout the house—the click of the kettle, followed by a rumble as it set itself to boil; the clatter of cups being put out on the sink; and the tinkle of spoons. Lucy wasn’t discreet in her movements, and she didn’t creep around silently.

Leaning back into the cushions again, he closed his eyes. The coolness of the ice began to soothe his aching head. As Deacon drifted off to sleep, his mind slipped into a dreamlike state, traveling back to the age of ten, when it all began.

2

Time Shared

R etired army colonel, Antonio Rainer, was sitting in his living room one evening with Governor, his eight-year-old golden retriever. This room was on the lower level of his two-story house in North Florida, on the same boulevard as his daughter-in-law Lucy and ten-year-old grandson Deacon. The old soldier sat quite still for some time, focusing on the silence. He was acutely aware of the room stretching away from him in all directions. Since losing his wife Leeza to cancer, his large house had become lonelier and lonelier. Maybe I should call Deacon tomorrow, he mumbled to Governor. Finally, he stood and then hauled himself up the stairs to his bedroom. He fell into bed with a groan.

The next morning, Colonel Rainer woke with a start. His dark eyes opened wide as he heard the sounds of voices and creaking floorboards downstairs. Soon realizing it was only Deacon and Lucy, the colonel ran his fingers through his short white hair, annoyed at being woken up. There was nothing more frustrating to him than his grandson’s futile efforts to be quiet. Dragging himself out of bed, he quickly showered and dressed.

As he paused at the top of the stairs, with arms folded across his broad chest, the colonel realized that the house was now