Tick Tock Goddess Clock

By Raymond Duane

From Chapter 6
The images of his birth along the Stairway of Time pushed aside the doubt in his mind that he was cosmically ordained within the Creation Continuum, living on a path set by Goddess. It was a longstanding internal argument of his, not so much about the certainty of it, but that he didn't like it and didn't want the job. Difficult, however, to avoid your destiny, especially when outside influences are prodding you along the way. He didn't want a destiny because that meant he had no freedom, that life was planned for him. Perhaps everything he did was never his decision. That idea bothered him.
A few steps farther up, the display reverted to the mural of savage destruction, the swirls of violence and splashes of death. The abrupt change right after his birth gave Quinine the impression that the world was in turmoil because of his arrival. Perhaps the art also told him he was part of an eternal solution.
"Hope it doesn't take that long," Quinine whispered to the sky.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymond Duane
• Release date: Apr 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005942212

Raymond Duane

Born in antiquity, I was raised with Robert Louis Stevenson, Walter Scott and Mark Twain. I'd spend Friday nights with my grandmother and she would read to me. With sound effects and excitement.All I've ever wanted to be is a writer and dreamed of being Ernest Hemingway. (I got the drinking part right.)I worked for the college paper; was founding editor of a weekly newspaper; and I did a lot of magazine work, including for adult entertainment.That experience formed the basis of Noodle Boy in Porn Valley, which is very blue and very "adults only."My fantasy books are for Jill, my wife, who loves dragon stories with strange creatures and magick. Sword and sorcery, with a blend of mystical philosophy about life and love. She and I wrote a dragon story titled Fort Jafra and we're working on a follow-up.She and I published Unfinished Faces, a book of my poetry and her art. I also have written a few cookbooks. My characters like to eat.These days, I'm in rural Central Valley, with Jill, three dogs and five kittens I found in a discarded box in the walnut grove.

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Tick Tock Goddess Clock.

A Quinine Adventure

Raymond Duane Copyright©2022

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Quinine flew low on Shield …

A breakfast of corn porridge …

Many rituals declared that Negater …

This stairway ran outside the …

Quinine released the spell and …

The images of his birth …

They stepped out of another …

Bacifer. Quinine happy and startled …

The volta never wavered. They …

Inside Bacifer's home, a wooden …

Quinine didn't expect the crowd …

The needle hit the red …

Only the moment existed, the …

There! A burst of a …

The sphere streamed not more …

Author …

Map …

Quinine flew low on Shield over the old village at the desert's northern edge. The Xochitl enclave stood near the base of Baec Mountain, a simple community, where the hosts always served a slice of nut bread and a piece of meat with vinum or mead. The food had two uses: for the stomach, which the Xochitls believed shouldn't be empty when pouring intoxicants in it; and to cover the top of the cup to keep out the pesky desert bugs.

Every now and then, they got a convert to their rituals, which centered on the Comienzo Monstrums, the two original dragons who fought during the First Creation. The Xochitls believed the way to Goddess was through dragon kind, the key needed to unlock true understanding of the Creator's plan.

With dragon in his soul–Quinine believed he was more than only part dragon–he was welcomed in Xochitl. Unlike many (most) towns and cities, in Xochitl, Quinine's violent life didn't work against him. People in the desert village saw him as living proof of their rituals, and were actually glad to see him, which was one of the reasons he liked to visit.

The exact meaning of Xochitl was lost to time, but spiritualists and academics interested in the subject generally agreed that it meant something along the lines of feminine blooms sprouting pleasure high. Ancient words often had grand meanings and could be used in different ways, which made translation tricky and future debates livelier. Something to do with females (a nod to Goddess, perhaps) and flowers, at any rate, and there were people who thought the Löflings got their urge to plant gardens from the old Xochitl rituals.

Quinine had a destination in mind and Shield knew what it was. The deohgee made haste, and Quinine didn't have to tell him which way to go.

Hey, been expecting you, Q.

Always a smile from Gilfig, a happy critter blend, with a lot of basswood tree in him. Shield went over to say hello. He knew the blacksmith from way back, had stayed in his stable many times, and knew a treat was forthcoming.

Gilfig gave the deohgee a stick of dried goat meat.

Here you go. It's not fish, but you like it anyway. It'll keep you busy for a while.

He winked at Quinine and picked up a glass pint. And for you, my friend, a special libation. Tapped this morning.

He turned on the spigot, angled the wide-mouth mug and filled it with a heady brew. He handed it to Quinine, who inhaled the pungent aroma but otherwise waited while Gilfig filled a pint for himself.

A toast to friendly trails, Gilfig said. Good to see you.

And you.

They drank.

Oh my, that's a good batch.

Yes it is. Gilfig took a deep drink. A bit sweet. I'll have to work on that.

What do you mean you were waiting for me? Quinine felt like everyone knew his business before he did.

Got a feeling you were on your way. Good timing, too, considering the mead. Glad you're here in one piece.

Quinine looked at him sideways as he drank.

Never really know if you're going to come back. I halfway expect to see your obituary in the periodical, done in by one of the criminals you chase.

The criminals he chased. Quinine uncharitably pictured himself as a kind of fulcrum in a world continually fighting with itself to balance the Neg-Pos Duality, a delicate maneuver within the ever evolving Creation Continuum.

Killing Negatives, saving Positives, and all his best ever did was keep an even keel. He was Goddess chosen and a powerful weapon against Negater, which put a target on his back for any Negative wanting to have his name up in lights at Port Lair, the world's most Negative city.

Despite his good intentions, his miraculous birth at the Soul Pool and being acknowledged throughout the world as a true Positive warrior, Quinine invoked edgy suspicion in anyone who didn't know him. He attracted trouble and scared people, even in cities that asked for his help against marauding Negatives. When the job was finished, they were never sorry to see him go.

Gilfig appraised the physical force that surrounded Quinine's presence. His friend stood broad and tall, muscular tree flesh exposed by a loose traveler's vest and a multi-pocket budhna tied at the waist, all that red hair and his tail swaying.

Let's hope my luck holds out. Quinine motioned for more mead, not too sweet for his taste.

The blacksmith and the Tree Warrior shared stories, reminisced about their time as youngers and refortified their friendship with Gilfig's fine mead.

Gilfig eyed his friend. Like I said, I had a feeling you were coming. Popped into my head a little bit ago. I don't know why. But you're here, aren't you?

In the flesh.

But you didn't travel all this way just for my pretty face.

Quinine smiled. It might be a pretty face if I drink enough. He took a drink. That's good. He pondered Gilfig's question. I was down at Sacque's, and we left heading north, and just kept going.

Gilfig squinted at Quinine as if he'd figured out the secret. What time of year is it? You're up here on your annual search, aren't you? My subconscious knew before I did. Which are you looking for this year?

His annual search. He hadn't considered his yearly expedition searching for lost artifacts until he was halfway to Xochitl. He had no set time to do it, once a year, and did it in different seasons, different places, when the time struck. The mood came usually when troubles and rough days had piled up and he needed a break. He called it a retreat (sometimes it felt like surrender), time away to meditate and reconnect with his Positive side.

He had made a snap decision to go to Baec Mountain. He hadn't explored that part of the Hand in years. When he had, it was only a cursory examination. The laziness influenced by the general belief that the desert held nothing worth finding. The Baec was finely combed, many believed, but one more look wouldn't hurt. Besides, he hadn't seen Gilfig in a while.

Like his father, Quinine had great respect for language and a real love of words, and because of that, he favored looking for what was called the Oracle Bone. Another reason he focused on that particular piece was because the last trip he took with his father was a search for it. The Oracle Bone was one of the two unfounded pieces of Goddess that splintered from Her during the battle against Negater at the Beginning. The other was called the Time Shard.

The Oracle Bone was part of the intended one language that Negater broke.

Askari monks named the fragment the Oracle Bone because it was of Goddess and for their belief that words reveal the unknown. The monks predicted that when found and reunited with Goddess this artifact would stop the world's babbling attempts at communication. Negater took advantage of the loss and manipulated a confusing array of spoken words to prevent Positive hearts from forming a united defense against Its corrupting authority.

The Time Shard when found would purportedly synchronize all birth, life and death throughout Goddess' domain. The return of the Shard would balance the worlds of the Outside Universe with the Hand. The Creation Continuum would be aligned with Goddess' intended path.

Both pieces were vital for what spiritualists called the Correction.

In early days, the monks organized searches for the Oracle Bone and the Time Shard. Many in the general population joined them, but failure took its toll, everyday life held other challenges and enthusiasm for the job waned until only a few kept up the labor.

Among the diehards were Mappers, who wrote accounts of their journeys, marked territory, named places and charted destinations so those who followed would know where the search had led. Throughout Herstoria, Mappers had been the first to see and do many things and they cherished the accomplishment of new entries to the Library's Atlas and Compendium.

Quinine was a descendant of these adventurers, but he didn't live a life that truly honored them, he thought, and the once a year trips made him feel better about himself.

To live a life as the ancient Mappers did. I think about that a lot, Quinine told Gilfig. Looking and wandering. Once a year or so I honor my father and the old ways. He was last looking for the Oracle Bone, and that's what I want to find.

Gilfig raised his pint. Good luck, but remember that when you have troubling finding something look for something else.

At the inn, Quinine got a nice room facing the street. Feeling the pleasant lull of Gilfig's mead, he declined his stomach's suggestion that he go down to the cooker to eat. He instead lay down for a nap that extended until sunrise the next day. He hadn't slept that long uninterrupted for a long time. Guess he needed it.

A breakfast of corn porridge with nut milk fueled him for the five-mile walk to Baec Mountain. He didn't take Shield because no flying involved.

It was a time for walking, with eyes on the ground, which Quinine enjoyed, but too boring for the deohgee. The animal was better based at Gilfig's place, where he got attention and treats.

At the northern edge of the desert, Baec Mountain housed the source of most of the water for the desert. The base of the mountain was a relatively wet forest.

He sat in the shade of a big boulder before deciding that he would walk around the mountain, for no particular reason, other than the idea popped into his head. The mountain was tall, but not all that wide at the bottom. He figured he could manage the small foothills and make it around the mountain in a few days. He wasn't in a hurry.

He lollygagged along a stream for a while, stopped short, went still and watchful. A parliament of owls interested him. Six of them, maybe nine. Difficult to tell because they were bunched together feather-fluffing, wings wide, head-bobbing, preening for the day. Quinine had never seen so many together. Apparently, it wasn't breeding season. No calls, no males acting tough to disturb a relaxing morning.

Tylluan, an old word for owl. He liked past expressions and said it again, but the owls paid him no attention.

He soaked his doubled-billed sun hat in the stream and topped off his waterskin before he stepped across the watercourse and entered a dry patch along the eastern edge of the mountain. He progressed to the crest of a small hill. The increase in elevation gave him a panoramic view of the desert. The limitless sky atop an endless expanse of white rocks on dusty beige dirt. Little dots of green bushes, skinny trees looking frail under a relentless sun. The heat radiating from the sun turned the air hot and thick with rippling waves that distorted his perspective. A kind of beauty to it, he thought, quiet and peaceful in its warning to outsiders to be careful.

Farther on across the crown as the terrain sloped downward, loose dirt sent him sliding on his feet, dust billowing around his legs, into a sandy dell populated with sparkling rocks that attracted heat like hundreds of shattered mirrors. All at once, flashes of hot sun stabbed his eyes, his moccasins heated up and his feet starting screaming about why they called the place the Baec.

Ground too soft to go back the way he came. He started sinking as he tried to climb. He slid deep. Hot sand and sharp rocks filled his moccasins, compressing his feet. The situation changed so fast that for an instant panic grabbed him and the sand felt as a huge tenacious hand pulling him under.

Physically he had no options, nothing to grab to pull himself out, no place to put his feet for leverage. With his tail now compressed along his legs, he had difficulty conjuring any spell strong enough to help him get out, and he had no idea what that spell would be, anyway.

As he dropped, he encased himself in a magick sphere he hoped wouldn't become his buried tomb. Hit bottom smack on his butt. The magick provided no cushion for the hard impact. Sand hit the top of the circular spell above his head. A heavy splash and then pour flowing down on all sides.

He sat watching the sand pile up around him and thought maybe it would be fitting if the spell did become his crypt. He cursed himself. He had already decided that nothing of importance was in the desert and had closed his mind to the possibility of anything. If he had paid more attention on any of his previous trips, or listened more intently when locals talked about the mountain, he might have been able to avoid the trouble.

What sounded like immense hinges turning in their rotation creaked above him. He looked up and through the sand waterfall he saw two massive stone blocks slam against each other, blocking access to the upper desert. The flow of sand stopped. The closing impact rumbled through the cave and his spell rolled him