Retribution: Earthborn Saga, #3

By Timothy Manley

In a world teetering on the brink of chaos, whispers of impending conflict echo through the shattered remnants of society. But amid the ruins of a cataclysm that tore their world asunder, the resilient Grimstad family has risen from the ashes to carve out a new haven, a fragile sanctuary in a hostile land.

Sinister forces lurking on the fringes of their existence threaten their hard-won respite. A tragedy strikes, a beloved family member goes missing, and the Grimstads face a harrowing battle for survival. United by blood and bound by determination, they muster their strength, forging an unyielding army to shield their newfound home, their extended kin, and the thriving community they've painstakingly built.

"Retribution," the electrifying conclusion to the Earthborn Saga, propels readers on an unforgettable journey, skillfully weaving together the opulence of epic fantasy, the alluring mysteries of aetherpunk, and the awe-inspiring marvels of science fiction. Join the indomitable Grimstad lineage as they confront unimaginable perils within their newfound sanctuary, and bear witness to the climactic chapter of their mesmerizing odyssey. Will they emerge victorious in the face of impending doom or succumb to the shadows that threaten to consume them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chartis Media
• Release date: Mar 10, 2025
• ISBN: 9798227438980

Timothy Manley

Timothy Manley has a fascination for both the future and the past. He cut his teeth on the likes of Tolkien, Howard, Lovecraft, Heinlein, Dick, Asimov, Bradbury, and Poe. He was a geek long before the internet existed and loved the melding of science, magic, and fantastic technologies. He currently writes both science fiction and fantasy, with some medieval macabre tossed in here and there, while he lives at home with his wife and the youngest two of his five kids.

Book preview

PART I

ONE

Dune City

The sky appeared crystal blue, deep and clear. His mind felt disconnected, confused. Ringing clanged loudly in his ears, filling his world with only its sound. His eyesight coalesced and his wits began to return. Realization slammed into him like an angry slap to the face; his mind returned.

Martin rolled over and pushed himself up. The Foxhound billowed gritty black smoke. The explosion had ripped it open, fire inside a raging inferno. Quickly Martin shouldered his rifle and scanned the area, looking for enemy combatants, for targets; for the ones that caused the explosion. But no firefight occurred; only the intense inferno consuming his companions. The rest of his detail rushed to the burning vehicle, trying to save anyone.

They remained inside. His best friends, his brothers. Before he knew it, he ran to the fire, screaming. He had to pull them out. He had to make sure they were alive. He had to get them. His body hit the ground, other soldiers brought him down, holding him tightly to prevent him from rushing into the fire. He could feel the heat burn his face. He screamed and reached for it. But he heard nothing, his ears filled with only the loud ringing.

~~~~~

Martin woke abruptly and quickly stood from his bed. His mind returned and he remembered where he was as the dream faded. He sat back down and dropped his face to his hands, working to bring his breathing under control. The events were real, the nightmare was real. His mind had decided to remind him. To shatter his complacency and ensure he always remembered his reason for being in the Wasteland.

Martin screamed inside his head and forced himself to stand, holding the emotions down that threatened to curl him into a ball, and made his way to the washroom attached to his apartment. Two rooms existed, one marbled with a waterspout and bowl, with a small door leading to a latrine hidden in the wall. He missed the full-fledged apartments of the magical rooms. He’d have to find them, or just get out.

He stood facing the small round mirror hanging on the wall and levelled a hard stare at the crazed man staring back at him. So many things he had done, had seen... had endured. They remained by his side. The one from the dream burned his throat and he choked back the tears when it would rear itself. The anger, the pain, at himself, at them, the enemy, the ones he never saw and would never know. He swallowed the impotent rage that burned inside, buried it again, shoving it back in its drawer, trying to hide it away again.

The man that stared back at him was different. His black hair and beard unkempt, wild. There used to be something missing in his eyes. He had lost something of himself in Afghanistan. He felt like he found it in the Wasteland. It didn’t make sense. But he had the feeling of having being disconnected, broken. The pain lingered; the rage burned, threatening to erupt unless he managed it. It was easier to control, easier to keep in check, than it used to be. He used to be broken, shattered into shards held together by the gravity of a living person, all orbiting the shape of him but none touching or connecting. And he’d rage. He’d go off on the smallest of instigations. Somehow, the oven of the Wasteland, the horror of the taint, of being turned, the fighting... constant fighting, and hiking... forced marches across a griddle top that cooked them. Combined they melted those shards back together. The man looking back at him from the mirror didn’t look normal. He didn’t feel normal, but he no longer felt lost and broken.

Martin shaved his beard until his face felt smooth and clean. It already made him look different, more like the before Martin. Before he aged, before the war, before it all. He didn’t stop there and instead continued on, cutting his hair, shaving his head until smooth and devoid of stubble. He looked at this different man, a younger man with old eyes.

The path lay open. Nothing kept him, nothing prevented him from going to find his wife. Still, fear gripped him. What if she'd been happier without him?  What if Rae was wrong and he wasn’t daddy anymore?  He caught sobs in this throat. He didn’t think he could handle that... not being daddy anymore. That would end him.

~~~~~

Brandon sat in his room and drank from the bottle of corn alcohol that the hotel owner had given him. It had a strong bite, and it proved very fierce. He believed he was able to burn it if he wished. He missed the Traveler’s Wagons and that hideaway not far from Dune City. He yearned to have television.

His whole life centered around her. He did everything for her. As she worsened, he had to do more and more. Her illness caused him to give up trucking. She needed care all the time. He had traded his life to take care of her. Then this thing happened, and he ended up in the Wasteland, she on a party island. Once he learned that, that she lived the life of a swinger, the pain of it turned from the torrid fire that consumed him to the debilitating pain of a ruptured heart.

He thought of nothing but her, getting back to her, finding her. Realizing she didn’t think or feel the same... the betrayal was a brutal knife that twisted itself in, digging deep.

When would it be his turn?  They both got new bodies, they both found their youth, their vigor. But hers was to live out a pornographic fantasy while he fought the most frightening monsters any mind imagined. She became immortal with no chance of dying and while he couldn’t die, he was still fighting not to be turned into one of the undead hordes. Where was the fairness in all of that?

He took another drink, it burned as it slid down his throat.

~~~~~

Wendell stood on the balcony of his apartments in the castle. He watched the city bustle below, amazed at it all.

I did it, Stacey, he held up a tall glass of iced lemonade, offering his cheers to her.

Wendell had become a wealthy man. At first, he told himself that’s what it was for. But Stacey knew the difference, and he did too, when he was honest with himself.

He was back to the beginning though. His group was broken up. The best group he’d been in, and they won because she ran it.

Chuckling at himself, Wendell took another drink. She did, he said. I guess I knew, he said to no one.

She’s like you, Stacey. A force of nature.  He smiled. Cyclone Stacey, he signed heavily. I miss you.

~~~~~

Most don’t remember, but Spencer was there that night. He remained in the last group, with Raevyn. He stayed when they rushed forward. He had endured so much that surrendering the tower remained unthinkable.

Let’s go, Raevyn commanded, and the group rushed to the giant monster illumined by the flames. Spencer hesitated. He looked back to the tower and thought of closing it off.

He had been turned before. More than once. And freed each time by others. The memories gave him nightmares that he did his best to silence with any herb he found to smoke.

The gut-wrenching horror of the night fed Spencer’s mind. He quickly pulled his pipe, lit it and sucked deeply. He found himself alone, the rest had charged forward. They left him, ignored him, following her instead. He chased after them, running to desperately be back in the group.

He puffed heavily on his pipe as he pulled his two-handed broadsword from its scabbard. He stood with Raevyn’s group; his role, to help keep her safe and unturned.

Then he saw it, saw him. He first considered it the herb he smoked. But this man flew out of the sky and killed the giant by himself. Hallucinatory doubt turned into amazement as Raevyn sprinted to him. Then he realized who he was.

The city bustled. Everything opened, nothing left to be taken. The entire city was free from the taint and open to anyone in it. He watched new people show up from Shady Oasis, the ones that had been there staking their claim.

He had stayed away, never considering himself part of that special group. Wendell had invited him a couple of times, but he felt it a pity invite and just never attended. It had all changed. It was over. The nights of hell were over. The desperation to keep people under his charge safe, alive and unturned was over. He ended up just being an old guy that lived in a tower all by himself.

~~~~~

How long? Spencer asked the shrine. The city had multiple shrines all set through different areas that just sprouted from the ground, appearing magically, once the city had been cleared. Spencer was at one near the tower, but he hesitated to enter. The last time he was in a shrine was ten years?  Fifteen?  He wasn’t sure, but he was quite a long way off.

Maybe I should just send myself to it, he said out loud... his voice trailing off.

Excuse me, a small girl’s voice broke into his thoughts. Can I go in?

What? Spencer asked, shocked. Honey, he said and kneeled to her level. She appeared to be no older than ten. That’s for earthborn.

I know, the girl said, her eyes piercing his own.

Are-, he caught his voice in his throat. Are your parents here?

They’ve been dead a long time, the girl said.

I don’t..., Spencer’s voice trailed off, looking around for anyone that would be with this young girl.

Do you mind? She said, her voice forceful. I need to enter.

How’d you get here?

None of your business.

Spencer stood, stepping aside, and she entered. He waited, confused until she emerged from the shrine.

What?  She asked him when she exited, giving him a mocking look.

I don’t’, he looked around again. You’re Earthborn, he stated flatly.

No duh, she said. I just went into a shrine.

But, he swallowed... confusion still grasped his mind. Why? he asked.

She beamed a grin at him. You know, don’t you?

I think so? he said, unsure.

I’m fragile, I’m weak, earthlings evolved to make sure I’m safe.

But..., his confusion returned.

I think I like you, she said. Get me food and a place to stay and I might tell you.

~~~~~

This is home? she asked snidely.

Well, he looked around. Yeah. I own the tower, it’s mine.

You’re him, she said. I heard about you.

Look, he said. I..., he paused and looked around, took a breath to start over. I’m Spencer Barron, he said. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My home is your home.

My name, she said, pausing. Is Erembourg Ferland.  She smiled and shook his hand.

That’s an interesting name, he said.

I love it, Erembourg said. It’s old school French.

Okay, he said looking about. We’re here, you have a place to stay, food and drink.  He sat down on a stoo; and crossed his arms. Tell me why.

Okay, she said, sitting down on a stool near him. I’m not really ten years old. I’m a lot older.

Why?

That’s not an easy question, she said. Let’s do dinner first.

Spencer stood and moved to the larder. He came out with a large box filled with cards. He stood there sorting through them.

You don’t have one of those magic food boxes? she asked while he sorted through huge stacks of cards.

No, he said, his answer subdued. Just the converter boxes. But we have enough food for all the folks that used to live here but just left when the city was freed.

He collected enough and placed them all in the large converter box. He closed the lid and then opened it. The smell hit her before he pulled out the platters of food. Her hunger was intense; she had not eaten for days.

He brought them to the table, a platter with roasted chicken, roasted vegetables, cook herb bread and pitchers of currant juice. She fell onto it and ate voraciously. She nearly drained the pitcher and Spencer went to get another.

How long since you’ve eaten? he asked.

Days, not sure.

You came here alone?

Yeah, she said her mouth full.

Spencer took some food to his own plate and began eating. Why on earth would you come here?

Earth has nothing to do with it, she smiled, her mouth full of food.

You know what I mean.

Power.

I don’t..., his face was confused.

You’re not asking the question you want to ask, she said, sitting up. She leaned back and burped loudly and then resumed eating.

Okay, he said. Why are you a little girl?

You know I’m not really ten, she said, a comment, not a question.

I figured that out..., he said, his voice trailing off.

Okay, she sighed. I..., her voice caught. Why the hell was she going to tell him?  She didn’t owe him anything, but she was driven too; she felt she could trust, that she needed him.

Why aren’t you young? she asked instead. You’re grey, didn’t you use the shrine to fix you, make you younger?

I did, Spencer said. About twenty years or so year ago.

What?  Her eyes went wide. Are..., she looked away then back at him. Are you sure?

Pretty much, he said. I’ve been here over twenty years best I can tell, others have been here near as long as me, some close but not so much.

I had no idea.  Her eyes shifted, focusing on nothing. Why would they wake us up all at different times?

I’ve wondered that myself, he said. But you’re avoiding my question.

This time in my life, she said, holding her hands out. Was my only happy time.  She refilled her glass with the currant juice. I had a mom, a dad, we were all happy. Next year, that all changed, and my life became hell. That is why I stay forever ten.

~~~~~

They were all there, all except Rae, their group not really a group any longer. The room was plush and large, huge double doors set opposite each other while the room itself was devoid of furniture. The letter that asked them there had been embossed with fancy language.

‘In gratitude the Dune City would like to invite the leaders of its liberation for an audience.’

Erin, Martin, Wendell and Brandon stood together, not knowing how to act, while they waited.

Why did he call us? Erin asked.

Dunno, Brandon said pacing. He kept moving back and forth, rubbing his hands.

Something about gratitude, Wendell said.

The doors were flung opened and servants brought tables, chairs, and trays filled with food and drink. Wine, beer, whiskey, all there with ice. Scotty followed dressed in fancy robes. He had taken to the role, quickly molding himself to the position of Governor of the Dune City. Esmerelda followed in behind him, his advisor.

Gratitude for the saviors of the Dune City, she said, smiling. A chest was brought and in it were goods and treasure.

You paying us off? Erin asked, his voice carrying a tone of irritation.

No, Scotty seemed surprised at Erin’s reaction. Reward, you are the reason why this place was liberated.

It’s alright, Erin, Martin said and put his hand on Erin’s shoulder. He felt he understood the man somewhat. He knew he was having a hard time. The man had... issues. He had feelings for someone he shouldn’t.

What next? Wendell asked.

I’m getting out of the Wasteland, Martin said. I need to get to my family.

Me too, Brandon said. I think I’ll go see my wife at least to talk and figure out what’s next.

I..., Erin said, pausing. He sat down heavily. I don’t know.

I know, Wendell said. It’s, hard, after.

Yeah, Martin said. You lost your direction, didn’t you?

Erin looked up at Martin. His face was a cavalcade of conflicting emotions. Martin saw that he recognized that, he knelt next to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

It’s alright man, he said.

Let’s pull the Haunted Keep, Erin said. It’s next in the line and it’ll help open up the road into the Wasteland.

I’m going to my family, Martin said. I’ve taken too long.

Me too, Brandon said. I need to figure shit out, with her, with me. I’m tired of being scared.

I know what you mean, Martin said.

Yeah, Wendell said. Since Rae had left, flying off with her giant husband, they all felt lost. They were there, in the lord’s tower overlooking the city. They had done it; they had freed the city. And all of them felt directionless, without a rudder, a guide.

I miss Rae, Wendell sighed heavily.

~~~~~

Yes! Brandon’s yell was a bit louder than he intended. Before he and Martin stood a Traveller wagon, laden and sitting in the stables, ready for them to grab it. With the chit from Scotty, it was theirs.

Mernin’, a small man said as he appeared from behind the wagon. He had to be no more than five feet tall. His head shaved clean, but his beard huge and braided into a single massive knot of hair that reached to his belly. What’s ye needs?

This here Traveller wagon, Brandon said, excitedly touching it.

We have a chit from the Governor, Martin said, holding up the rolled parchment.

Fine, fine, the small man said. But this t’ain’t be no Traveller’s wagon.

But, Brandon said, his excitement crashing, his face pleading. It looks like one... his voice trailed off.

T’do, she does. N’Ayes kin tells ye’d insides do be pretty and comfortables. But a magic wagon she t’ain’t be.

Do you have one?  Brandon asked.

Only dem’dere Earthborn shops carry’s’m or’d Traveller’s demselves, but deye’s never sells.

Then we’ll find an Earthborn shop, Brandon said, finality to his voice.

There aren’t any here, Martin said. The city has none and the ones we’ve been to in the Wasteland Oasis didn’t carry stuff like this.  He turned his attention to the merchant. We’ll take this one.

~~~~~

The wagon jostled as it rolled down the raised road running above the Dune Sea. Martin and Brandon sat side by side. The wagon was more comfortable than walking but was slower. It looked very much like a Traveller wagon, anyone familiar with one spotted it quickly.

Brandon’s crestfallen acceptance of it as their new home for the unforeseeable future didn’t stop him from insisting that they still make it as comfortable as they could.

Inside it not only held their bedding in side-by-side cots with the walkway between them but Brandon and Martin also ensured ample space for their kitchenette. A table for meals, folding benches, their converter box, and the massive collection of cards to use with the converter box. Brandon stocked it, but Scotty dedicated a planner to outfit it. They had enough meals, both from the Realm and Earth, for an army for a full year. It was a bit overwhelming but the rolodex style system to house the cards was easy to use once they learned how.

To their surprise the road was full. Most of them were earthborn traveling on foot to get out of the Wasteland. Shockingly, there were a large number of natives leaving the Wasteland as well. They didn’t realize that many of them were trapped there just like the earthborn.

A mass of humans moved across an ancient raised stone road, moving away from what was once their nightmare. The road stretched farther than they could see. Day after day of travel, long days set in the wagon bench just watching the horses move. Nights everyone camped and fires grew where they could as the travelers cooked their meals. Mostly though, it was dark and quiet except for the noises from the camps, most were quiet, some a mixture of murmured conversations mixed with a few songs and music.

Martin watched the crowd and understood. They were all still shell shocked and just wanted out. He didn’t blame them at all, he felt the same way.

Brandon alternated between cheery and talking about anything and everything to morose and doing nothing more than nursing a bottle of liquor. Martin was worried about him.

Ever had your heart broken? Brandon asked on the third day. He had been quiet that day, not saying much, staring at the road. He chain-smoked a pipe he had picked up in the Dune City before they left and sipped of liquor that carried a hefty stink.

Of course, Martin said. Everyone does.

How’d you deal with it?

I enlisted.

Well shit, Brandon seemed to perk up a bit. That was pretty drastic, wasn’t it?

Didn’t seem so at the time.

I don’t want to pry..., Brandon said, his voice trailing off.

Yes, you do, Martin chuckled. You’re curious.

I am, Brandon said. Damn my ears.

Don’t believe I’m telling you this, Martin paused. But, with what we’ve been through..., his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. My wife cheated on me with the best man at my wedding at her bachelorette party.

Holy shit, Brandon said. Jesus..., he paused trying to find the words. When did you find out?

Our honeymoon.  Martin paused, remembering it. It wasn’t a big honeymoon; he couldn’t afford much. But they were still in a hotel with a swimming pool and the plan was to enjoy the weekend. She told me before breakfast on our second day there.

Damn, Brandon said. I’m sorry.

So was I, Martin said. I was devastated.

When did you enlist?

That day, he said, just watching the road. I went down and signed up. I made damned sure I didn’t see her or my best friend since then. I pretty much just hid and avoided everyone until I went to basic.

How’d you hide?

Lived in my truck. I never went home, never saw friends or family. I freaked them out and they had a missing person’s report out on me.

When did they find out?

When the cop investigating it realized I had enlisted. That’s how they found out.

You enlisted married?

Yep.

How’d you fix it?

She did, Martin said, his voice catching. She contacted the chaplain and then worked through him with me, and she did everything she could to show amends.

You forgave her?

Not at first, not for a long time.

What did it for you?

My second kid being born.

Shit..., Brandon’s voice just trailed off as he watched the bodies moving along with their wagon. I guess time is all we have here.

Yeah, Martin said.

~~~~~

I was ninety-seven. The sickness was rampaging through the home I was in and all of us were dropping like flies. I had caught it. I knew I had it, I was sick, and my lungs were filling with fluid. Then, I woke up as a ten-year-old girl in an orphanage, Erembourg said, a finality to her worlds.

She stood there, waiting for him to respond.

An orphanage?

Yes, she said. I went from being and old lady to a child in an orphanage.

I have always wondered why I ended up in the Wasteland.

I used to wonder why I ended up in an orphanage, she said. But I gave up on that, it’s a waste of mental energy.

Yes! Spencer said. That’s why I stopped fretting over it. And I have resisted visiting the shrine just for that reason.

I noticed you didn’t enter after I left, she said. Did I break your focus?

I was thinking of making myself young and joining one of the groups forming around Raevyn and Urto’s coming. But..., his voice trailed off.

I showed up.

Yes, he said. You showed up.

Tell me your story, she said, standing from the table and walking to an area filled with pillows. She fell into it and relaxed, pleasure crossing her face.

I was a repairman or those automated teller machines, he said. He stood and walked to a box of cards. He sorted through the cards and found what he was looking for. Smiling he put them in the converter box and pulled out sweet treats and hot tea. He set them down on the table and poured himself a cup.

Go on, she said and moved to the table. She took a lemon poppy seed cake, a true afternoon tea classic. Buttermilk is what gave the cake extra body and moisture.

Well, he took a sip of tea. "I was there, standing outside a convenience store having just serviced a machine. I saw it. I saw the sky rip open, I saw it start to suck things into it.

I didn’t see it, she said. I was in my room, with a small window. I only knew something was happening because the staff were panicking.

I woke up in the training tent, he continued as if she didn’t say anything. I earned my way out. Then, the hardness began.

Hardness?  She asked.

Yes, he said. The Wasteland is unforgiving. That’s why Rae was so special.

I heard about her, the small girl said, looking into nothing. I wish I was here earlier.

What would you have done?

Meet her for one, Erembourg said. But maybe made it easier, helped in some way.

How could you have helped? he asked and then immediately regretted it. He fell into the trap she laid. She looked like a ten-year-old girl, but she wasn’t.

I have my ways.

~~~~~

On the fifth day they began to see people moving in the opposite direction as they were. Folks heading into the Wasteland.

That’s, Brandon said, pausing as he looked at the growing number of people beginning to pass them going the wrong direction, wrong. What?

Hey there, Martin said, pulling the wagon to stop as one group passed, a collection of heavily armed men with an entourage of followers carrying gear. Do you know what you’re headed into?

Yeah, one of them said, standing to and squaring off with the wagon. We do. Why do you ask?

Just making sure you’re aware of what you’re up against, Martin said.

We’re good.

Zombie Adventure! a guy behind him yelled and held a bow up in his extended arm while he yelled. The woman with him, wearing two curved blades laughed and then pulled his arm down.

Jesus, Brandon muttered.

Where are you from? The woman asked.

We showed up in the Wasteland, Brandon said.

We’re heading from the Dune city, Martin said, pointing. This road leads right to it.

Yeah, the lead man said. We’re going there.

For zombie adventure! the guy yelled again raising his bow. The woman next to him laughed and quickly calmed him down.

Oh my god this is fucking insane, Brandon whispered.

Good journey, Martin said, nodding and then flicked his team with the reins to begin moving again.

The lead man smiled and nodded then gave a Roman gladiator style salute and returned to the hike.

They’re food, Brandon said once they were out of earshot.

What the fuck is going on? Martin muttered, mostly to himself, but he was concerned.

~~~~~

Black mountains of sand clouds scoured across the Dune Sea. Martin and Brandon had watched it for most of the day. It first showed itself as a dark line on the horizon to the East growing steadily. The feel of the air slowly changed during the day, the smell changed. Something was coming. By midafternoon the wall had grown larger. Distance was hard to judge on the Dune Sea unless you were used to it. The other people on the road began to take notice and became concerned.

What started at a quickening of everyone’s steps turned into a mad dash. Most didn’t know what they were running to, they just didn’t feel safe on the Old Road lifted above the sands of the Dune Sea.

Darkness came faster than expected due to the giant black wall descending on everyone. Martin and Brandon just made it to the enlarged section where everyone had setup and protected themselves as best they could.

I’ve been through huge sandstorms, Martin said. Tie the wagon off as best you can, he told Brandon, then set the brake and began blocking the wheels. He put blinders on the horses to cover their eyes. They resisted a bit; they could feel the tension. He left them hitched to the wagon. He gave them water and feed to get them something before the worst of it hit.

What next?

We hunker down inside the wagon, Martin said. He held off as much as he could and then pulled the feed bag from the horses and wrapped their snouts as he’d seen the guides do when he was in the service. Quickly, he then crawled inside the wagon and made sure the stitched flaps were tight.

The wagon rocked when the storm hit. The wind buffeted it through the night. Both men worried incessantly about the horses. They didn’t know as much about them as they wished they knew. Martin had some experience with sandstorms during his deployments. They would just hunker down and wait them out. Much like they were doing at the moment.

Even though they had the wagon laced up as tightly as they could sand still got in. The dust in the air became heavy and they pulled out clothes to cover their mouths. They ended up moistening them to help with breathing and keeping most of it out. All they had for light were the glowing stones they received from Wendell so long ago.

Those trepid lights fought hard against the dusty blackness that was threatening to fill the wagon.

I remember when that bastard first pulled them out, Brandon said, looking at the glowing stone.

Yeah, he waited until it was pitch black like he needed to make an entrance, Martin tried to chuckle. That event didn’t hold good memories for him. Being turned by the taint was a horrible thing to experience.

Brandon grunted and let it go. Both men had no desire for anything other than sitting and just waiting out the storm.

~~~~~

Erin had seen them off. He stood watching until the wagon slowly reduced in size as it jostled down the road. He shook his head, turned and began wandering the city. He had thought about going with them. But he didn’t want to. He felt there was nothing out there for him. Instead, he didn’t know what to do. His feet led him, and he followed. He ended up meandering aimlessly through the vibrant city. It was bustling; Natives and Earthborn alike, everywhere, with more arriving every day. The Shrine created craftsmen, tradesmen, laborers, and shop-keeps to fill some of the vacant areas, but not all, most of them were still empty. Gardens had begun growing and people took them over, tending and grooming them. Buildings were coming to life.

The city was alive, and everyone that saved it rejoiced in the knowledge that they did that. They met the taint, the greatest evil in its own territory and they won. Even better, one of their own, a native, was sitting on the throne.

He found a door hidden between two shops. A simple sign hung above the door, engraved on it was a beer bottle. He walked in. A young black man was behind the bar, looking far too young to own a bar.

Hey’do, he said.

The place was small, just stools near a bar, half a dozen round tables with two chairs on each one.

Hey, Erin said and sat down on a stool.

All the booze from back home, the young man said. Pick what you want.

You’re not native?

Oh, hell no, he said, grinning. Names Sam Davis, he said holding his hand out. Erin took it and shook.

You look pretty young.

Yeah, that was me, he chuckled. Babyface, they called me.

Can you do vodka, orange and cranberry juice on ice?

Sure can, Sam said and went to work.

You didn’t come across this young? Erin asked.

Oh, hell no, Sam said, grinning. I was in an old folk’s home. Marine in Viet Nam, stayed in 20 years, got out, and became a deputy sheriff. Retired from that one after twenty years, too. Then got bored and bought a bar.  He handed Erin his drink.

Damn, Erin said and began drinking. It was very good; he didn’t stop and drained his glass. Another.  He handed his glass back.

Sure, Sam said and made him another, quicker the second time.

That was fast.

Yeah, Sam said. The first one I made by hand but turned it into a recipe, so now the box will make as many as I want.

How long did you run the bar?

Eight years, to the day. Then I fell off a ladder and broke a hip; ended up in an old folk’s home unable to walk and wipe my own ass.

Erin put the empty glass back up and motioned for another.

I’ll just make you a pitcher, Sam said.

I’ll drink it.

What’s your story?

Erin chuckled...  Not enough time, he said.

Sam nodded and just let him drink it peace.

It’s all gone, Erin said, after draining another glass. He was drinking it from the pitcher quickly. No hesitation between glasses.

She’s gone, they’re gone, I’m..., Erin looked around. I’m here.

Are you the only one?

No, Erin said. But..., he shrugged.

~~~~~

Yeah, I have kids, Sam said. They’re the ones that left me in the old folk’s home.

I have a kid, Erin said. The bar had been his daily place. He’d come, snack on whatever was on the bar, and just drink and talk. At times others would come in and drink, but mostly the place was empty.

How old?

She’s probably about ten, well, if everything were even and the same, she would be.  Erin emptied his glass and filled it from the pitcher that had become his standard. But this place doesn’t wake us all up at the same time. Some folks are separated by twenty years.

From what I’ve seen they have families all at the same time, Sam said.

Or the kids aren’t but the parents are. And the parents have to do some shit to free them, Erin said thinking about what Rae had told them.

Yeah, Sam said bringing Erin another pitcher. I heard that.  He put up a bowl of pickled eggs and sweet pickles. Do you know where they are?

No, Erin said. I wasn’t ready to be a dad and didn’t handle it very well. She left me when the kid was still a baby, and I never fought to see her.  He took a drink. I think she wanted me to, to prove I was better than what I had become, but I didn’t. And pretty much proved her wrong about me again.  He took a drink. Or confirmed what she already knew.

So that’s it?  You’re here punishing yourself for being a shitty person?

Pretty much, Erin said and smiled a creepy, evil smile. Isn’t that why you’re here?

Naw, Sam said. I’m here because I was bored. I’ve seen my kids and their kids. Boring lives they have. They live in some community where everything is taken care of. They just spend time with their kids and other parents with kids that are like them.

So, they don’t have to farm or?

Nothing, Sam said. It’s more like some gated community back home than here. They don’t even think they’re in some medieval land, they aren’t aware that monsters and magic are real here. They’re just, living in, some weird Stepford fantasy life.

Erin chuckled. How long did you last there?

I didn’t end up there, Sam said. I ended up in another land entirely. Across the ocean. I think folks from Southeast Asia were there. With their magic and monsters and whatnot.

Shit, Erin said. I didn’t know there was a place like that.

What, you think everything was made for white folks?  Hell no. There be far too many places in this world.

How’d you leave?

Sold myself to a slave ship.

What?

Yeah, I tell you, my time there was hard as fucking hell. I saw the shrine a hell of a lot. One time these demon bandits just waited right outside of it until I would come out and send me right back. Did that a lot until I just stayed in it and didn’t stop until I was as young as it could make me.

Damn. I haven’t had anything like that happen to me.

No, I guess not. Even the other earthborn there weren’t too kind.

How’d you get away?

I came out looking young, they thought I was someone else and tried to rape me. I killed them, took their shit, and hauled ass.

How’d you get on a slave ship?

Was the only one traveling someplace else. They had a makeshift shrine on the ship, like a cell. That way they could keep earthborn trapped. Must have been at sea a couple of weeks or so when I saw an island. Hell, maybe six weeks, I don’t know, rowing a ship all day long you lose track. I jumped ship and swam like a bitch. They tried to shoot me with bows but at this age, I could hold my breath pretty damned long.

Damn.

Yeah, not that big a deal. I swam underwater, would surface to grab a breath, and go back down. They just left me and figured I’d drown and end up back in their box. But I made it to the island.

"You were stranded?

Hell no, Sam said, laughing. The damned place was one of these island resorts were everyone was porking everyone else. I hopped in a shrine first chance I got and was bound there. I found out where my kids were, then got a boat to sail there.

How’d you end up here?

Yeah, Sam’s smile faded. I got bored and pissed off.  He poured himself some bourbon and began drinking with Erin. I was a combat vet, then I was a career marine, then a cop. The bar kept me focused but not challenged. The island though, I felt alive, I mean really alive there even though I was getting butchered. When I made it to my kids and started just being with them...

Yeah, Erin said. I’ve been fighting here since I arrived. And I’m not sure just how long that’s been. I can’t bring myself to leave.

I know a lot of guys like that, Sam said taking a drink. Pulled as many tours as they’d let them until they bought a permanent ticket home or bought the farm. Like, they never wanted it to end. I was at the oasis when Lady Raevyn showed up. 

I didn’t see you in the fight, Erin said.

I saw you, prancing around town during the day. You didn’t see anything else but her. You were a bit of a haughty asshole too.

Erin chuckled, then sighed heavily.

Here, Sam said, handing him a plate of nachos. Get some food in your belly.

Thanks, Erin said.

I saw him, her husband, Urto, Sam continued. I was in the line on the main street. He rode in like some giant human god and just ended it all. And she goes and leaps into his arms.

That’s enough, Erin growled.

Now, now, boy, Sam said, flashing him a smile. Don’t curse the road over something that was never yours, to begin with.

Erin grumbled and took a drink. You’re all into this Urto and Raevyn worship too?  He asked.

Sam laughed. Hell no, boy.  Sam paused, looked Erin up and down, grinning. But you are. And you hate it.

You?  This how you want to live out your immorality?  Erin’s voice carried an edge.

Sam smiled at it. He liked a man with fire. Here until I’m bored and ready to move on.

And where will that be to?

Dunno, not yet. Maybe not even when I start walking. That’s an idea. Just pick a direction and walk. See what’s there. This world is big, bigger than ours I think, a lot bigger. Maybe I’d like to see it all?

Erin was going to say something, but he took a bite of the nachos instead.

TWO

Dune City

Sir Grendam True recalled the moment. He was there, he saw it. The most important thing he had ever done in his life was that moment. It was etched in his mind, and he would share the story of it to anyone that cared to listen.

He had taken up residence in the Princess Hotel. The owners gave rooms at a discount to those that liberated the Dune City.

Sir True had his table, he sat there much of the day. He had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. He had coin, the reward from liberating the castle was huge. The cards he collected could support him for years to come.

And yet he felt lost. He had been Horace Moran back in the world, in the before time. Sir Grendam True was his character, a paladin in a fantasy role playing game.

The power and might of Saint Cuthridge, the God of Sacrifice, he said and raised his glass, then drained it.

He had stopped shaving and the beard he grew was coming in thick and black. He smiled as he ran his fingers through it. His mother hated facial hair. It didn’t really matter; he was horribly obese, his face wasn’t any more attractive with or without hair. But daily, she’d shave him, as part of their morning routine, before she drove him to work.

He worked in a call center. It didn’t matter why he called the people on the other end of his headset, it always changed based on the vendor company. He’d have a script and he’d follow it, mostly he felt his job was trying to trick old people out of their money. Sadly, he was actually quite good at it, which is why they kept him instead of trying to find a way to get rid of him, like most places did before that job.

"Lying