The Chronotrace Sequence- The Complete Box Set

by D J Edwardson

  The ground grew more and more encrusted. The cracked surface split into an infinite number of ragged, dusty segments. The winds blew stiffly, but did not come head on so the host ran relatively unimpeded across this part of the desert.

  Adan was astounded that his lungs were not burning like before. He ran for some time and felt as fresh as he did at the start. He checked his bioseine, but it was doing nothing. It was the solec still at work in him.

  They were only given two short rests, but every so often the pace slowed enough for water pouches to get passed around. Eventually the wind shifted and began to come at them head on. This made it impossible to keep up the pace they had been running at. Some of the men near Adan faded towards the back.

  Half the day had gone before Adan first started feeling winded. Not long after that his strength evaporated completely. He did not want to switch over to his bioseine because he hated the disembodied feeling it gave him, but he had no choice. He shut off the pain and continued on, hoping he did not suffer as much from this run as the last one.

  The dull world of his bioseine-controlled senses returned. Even the terrain seemed monotonous to him now. The sky lost its greenish tint. All was colorless and gray. The Waymen, with their kaffs and garricks, fused together in his vision, like copies of the same person, running beside each other.

  But everything changed when the dark mass appeared on the horizon.

  At first, it was indistinguishable from the murky sky above, but the closer they got to it, the more distinct it became. And it would not surrender the horizon, absorbing more and more of it as it approached.

  “Storm,” Will warned, but by then, he was merely echoing Adan’s own thoughts and surely the thoughts of every Wayman in the throng.

  The march ground to a halt. Adan glanced down the lines. As numerous as they were, their numbers seemed insignificant in the face of the wall of debris billowing towards them.

  All through the host, shouts rang out. For a moment, Adan wondered if another riot had broken out, everyone was moving so frantically. But he soon realized what they were doing. The men were unraveling their garricks into large sheets of fabric like a tarp. With these, they formed makeshift tents, low to the ground, just big enough to cover a single person.

  As the storm closed in, it looked as if the sky itself was descending to swallow them up. The brackish upheaval stretched as far and as wide as Adan could see. Bits of rock and glinting shards whizzed inside the churning mass.

  Adan had survived storms in the compound, but the char walls had born the brunt of those assaults and none of those storms had been anywhere near as intense as this one looked to be. Out in the open and with no time to find shelter, there would be no protection against this storm. It was moving too fast. If Adan didn’t do something, he would die where he stood.

  Will shook him by the shoulder. He was in the midst of unraveling his own garrick, just as the Waymen had done. The rest of the host was almost invisible, covered in swirling sand.

  “Get under your garrick!” Will gave the mental order as Adan lost sight of him beneath a wave of debris. That was followed by a stream of information which conveyed everything Adan needed to do to deploy the fabric of his coat as a shelter.

  Adan had just gotten the last of the information when Will’s mind winked out, as if he had put on an inhibitor or gone out of range.

  “Will!” Adan cried out, but he could barely hear his own voice above the wind.

  He started to panic, but there was no time to go looking for him. He had to set up a shelter before it was too late.

  Adan allowed his bioseine to take Will’s instructions and use them as if they were his own thoughts. His arms flew into motion, deftly pulling off the garrick and unraveling it in the roiling winds. From the edge of the fabric he slid out four pins and rushed to secure two of the corners to the ground. The pins sank deep into the crust beneath him. He flicked a small nub on each one and several prongs sprang out across the surface of the fabric. Then he flung himself flat to the ground and fought to pull the cloth over his head.

  Dust and sand beat against him. He could barely see his own hands. He feared the cloth would be ripped in two from the forces buffeting against it, but with strength he did not know he possessed, he drove his head against one of the remaining corners and held it to the ground while he wrestled the other corner down with one hand. With the other, he thrust the third pin into the corner and flicked the nub to deploy it. He felt it click, but couldn’t see whether or not the prongs had actually deployed. But there was no time to feel around and check. If he didn’t get that last corner pinned down, the storm would take him.

  In a maddening rush, he pulled the final snatch of fabric out from under his head, but when he did so, it nearly flew away. He had to clutch it with both hands to pull it back flush with the ground.

  He fumbled for the last pin, almost dropping it before he managed to thrust it through the fabric into the ground. Time seemed to stand still.

  He wanted to scream at himself, “Flick the nub! Deploy the prongs!” But despite his bioseine, or perhaps because of it, everything moved incredibly slow. He felt that he could almost see individual flecks inside the storm spinning lazily by as his eyelids slid down and up again, down, and up. He could practically sense each muscle in his neck twisting as he tried in vain to spot the elusive nub which would save him.

  In the end, he never saw it. He was completely blinded by the storm, but somehow his fingers found it for him. As they brushed across it, his thumb pressed against the switch. He could not feel any click, so he pressed down on it again and again and again, until the silt torrent flying around him parted just long enough for him to see the extended prongs: four perfect tines clinging to the corner of the cloth. The fabric held taut.

  As he buried his face into the ground, his garrick rippled ferociously across his back. All the Vast seemed to have shrunk down to his little, lightless cave. All that remained was the roar and the rage of the wind.

  Bits of debris tore into the fabric of his tiny sanctuary, threatening to tear it apart, but somehow, beyond hope or thought, it held together.

  For now at least, he was alive.

  Thirty-Two

  Dark Lines in the Sand

  Adan pinched the sides of the tent anchors, retracting the prongs. The pins slid out of the ground, shrinking back to the size of his thumb. Layers of sand cascaded off his garrick as he sat up and looked around. Here and there, bits of debris whisked by on the breeze, but they were small and harmless, no more than an irritation. Far off along the horizon he could see the trailing edge of the storm as it raced away to ravage other parts of the Vast.

  Most of the army still lay under a lingering cloud of dust, but nearby, a few Waymen stirred, rising from the sand and shaking their garricks clean. From somewhere out in the haze, Will’s mind flashed into Adan’s awareness. A moment later, he appeared, his eyes shining from beneath his sand-covered kaff.

  “We made it, eh?” The same sense of relief reflected in his eyes ran through Will’s thoughts.

  “I thought it would never end.”

  “It certainly was a bad one—the worst I’ve ever seen,” Will replied.

  “I thought maybe the storm had carried you away. I couldn’t sense your mind.”

  “If a storm gets strong enough, it creates too much interference for bioseine connections to function,” Will explained.

  That limitation was good to know. All the more reason to avoid getting caught in a storm.

  Will knelt and began folding his garrick back into its former shape, fastening it together with the system of inner hooks and ties which kept it together. Adan followed his example. Though it should have been a complicated task, he found it surprisingly easy because of the information Will had provided before the storm hit.

  Adan’s garrick had dozens of rips in it now, but none were very large and it was still in one piece. It was stronger than it looked.

  Will shared another th
ought, “I want to see how the Waymen fared. They are more experienced desert travelers than either of us, but they didn’t have the anchoring pins we had. I made those from a design I found in the extractor and they’ll hold down practically anything.”

  Will handed Adan a few strips of kern. “Here, chew on this. I’ll be back in a little while.” He turned and disappeared into the haze.

  The kern was a bit sandy, but with Adan’s bioseine still dulling his senses it really didn’t bother him.

  As the haze cleared, the Waymen formed ranks once again, readying for another march. I can’t imagine why they choose to live up here, Adan thought.

  He had whittled down two of the three pieces of kern, by the time he sensed Will drawing near again.

  “I spoke with the Reeves. It looks like they lost several warriors in the storm. Some of them may just be missing, but they said that we don’t have time to go looking for them.”

  “How many?” Adan asked, disturbed at the news.

  “It’s hard to say—somewhere close to a hundred, maybe more. They don’t know for sure. But the Waymen are used to losing people in storms. It’s a shame, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

  Adan was surprised at how little the deaths seemed to affect Will. “But shouldn’t we at least try to see if we can find the ones who are missing?”

  “If any did survive, they’re desert-wise enough to find their way back to the sar. But as far as the Waymen are concerned, the rest died on the path to the eternal city. One good thing did come out of this, though. The Reeves have decided to ease the pace. They don’t want to lose any more by running them to death.”

  Adan stared blankly at the men milling about, most of them still covered by an opaque cloud. He had expected they would face death once they reached Oasis, but not before the battle had even begun.

  “We shouldn’t leave them.”

  “We have to keep moving,” Will told him. “They would think we were cowards if I told them to go back and look for the missing. Life holds no value for these people. Even a reeve could die and no one would mourn him. All that matters is the thral. The dead will live on in their tales and that’s enough for them.”

  Adan found that hard to accept. However cruel or inhuman the Waymen might be, he could not believe that anyone could take the loss of life so lightly. But then he remembered what Gavin had told him about people becoming numb in the face of too much death. Perhaps this was what had happened to the Waymen.

  Voices cried out from within the haze. Judging from the renewed activity of the nearby Waymen, it looked like they were almost ready to resume the trek. The familiar, blunt form of Nox appeared out of the floating dust clouds.

  “The great seer lives!” he shouted.

  “The dust didn’t take you either, I see,” Will said.

  “Ah, that was no more than a light breeze, great one. Nox is too well put together to be carried off by something like that.” He patted his large belly and let out a great laugh. “Some shims said they saw a demon running wild inside the whirlwind, but there’s always a few telling that tale after every storm.”

  “You know that was no normal storm, Nox. For all we know, it might have been sent by the lord of Tasada himself,” Will said.

  “Ah, but we survived, then, didn’t we. Ha!” Nox clapped his hands together and dust flew everywhere, “So are you ready for another run with the thrals? It was a glorious sight to see the throng set out this morning, eh? Something more for the legends! Strong as cranks we were—and still are. We may have lost a few shivs—but no matter. Sharper for the cutting we are, sharper for the cutting!”

  Nox trotted out in front of his warriors. “Come on then,” he yelled, “I know most of you shims can’t see past your noses, but by the storm, there better be no slacking. Sparc says we can rest tonight on the edge of the Flats, but not ‘til then, though. Not ‘til then!”

  Similar orders were given by other Waymen leaders down the line.

  “I don’t want any gristle,” Nox went on, “We’ll be living like reeves in the eternal city by this time tomorrow. Did you hear that? Like reeves! Now shake the rust off and fall in line you worthless blunts!”

  Loud cries echoed throughout the host as the Waymen surged forward, plunging blindly into the haze, cleaving the dust cloud as they pushed on towards Oasis.

  The march ended as the last light of day was dying.

  “We’re near the Desiccant Flats,” Will said. “We’ll camp here and move out tomorrow.”

  The black void before them could have been anything. Wherever they were, Adan was grateful the running had come to an end. The pace for the last part of the journey had been slower, but he still needed the bioseine to keep up. His body was in danger of another collapse.

  As the Waymen struck camp, Adan reached out to Will’s mind.

  “I need some more solec.”

  “I thought as much. Your body’s still recovering from the initialization.”

  Will pulled a small canvas pouch from his garrick as Adan sank to the ground. Loosening Adan’s collar, he rubbed all of the ointment in the pouch onto Adan’s neck and shoulders. The warm sensations washing over him penetrated even the dulling of the bioseine. His strength rapidly returned. He took back control of his senses, eagerly soaking in the depth of sounds, aromas, and feelings that leapt out at him in the dark. The brutal march seemed like a distant memory.

  Will snagged a water pouch from some Waymen and shared it with him. Adan forced the acrid fluid down as fast as he could. After the solec, he didn’t feel like he needed it, but he took some just to be sure.

  “There’s a meeting of the Reeves to go over the plan of attack for tomorrow. I need to attend, but it will just be a lot of bragging and posturing like the last time. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Will told him.

  “I’ll stay put then,” Adan replied, grateful he didn’t have to go.

  “The less you push yourself, the longer the solec will last. Get some sleep. Oasis is not far now.”

  Will headed off into the throng. His mind soon vanished. Adan closed his eyes and tried his best not to think about tomorrow. But sleep would not come easily; the solec had taken his tiredness completely away. Doubts and fears tormented him, keeping him awake. What was going to happen if he actually made it back to the Institute? Was he walking into a trap? He still didn’t understand how Will’s plan could possibly end up succeeding.

  His thoughts turned to the Welkin. Had they had made it to safety? Or were the somatarchs still hunting them down? The cries from the Basin echoed again in his thoughts. It has to stop, he told himself. If people like Senya and her family were ever going to have a future it might depend on what happened tomorrow. As uncertain as that outcome was, it might be their only chance.

  Long after darkness overtook the camp, Adan’s anxious mind surrendered itself to sleep. Even then, it was a fitful and uneasy rest, filled with the perpetual roar of desert storms which lived on inside his dreams.

  “It’s time to go.” Will’s thoughts roused Adan’s drowsy mind.

  Adan forced his eyes open and saw that first light had come and gone. All around him the Waymen were breaking camp.

  Adan arose, stiff and groggy from his restless night. Will handed him a piece of kern.

  Beyond the camp stretched a barren plain of dingy beige sand, rising into shadowy hills along the horizon. At first he thought the hills might be another storm, but after staring at them for several moments, he saw they were too solid and stationary to be dust clouds.

  The Waymen set out at a light trot. The mood was surprisingly subdued. There were no great shouts, just a few orders barked out at the beginning of the march. The pace was not much faster than a brisk walk. Many of the men glanced about, as if expecting another storm or some new danger to appear.

  The terrain soon changed. At first, it merely became more sandy, but after a while the dingy whiteness became littered with glinting specks.

  T
he leaders of the Waymen called a halt to the march.

  About a hundred paces off from where they stood, jagged lines of some shiny, jet-black material crisscrossed the ground. The lines grew and converged into solid sheets of polished ebony, shot through with sparkling, silvery flecks. Half a dozen such formations ran along the ground in all directions, like black strips of ichor.

  “What are those lines in the sand?” Adan asked, staring at the fascinating sight.

  “The Waymen call them blood rocks, but they are actually just deposits of nidor.”

  “They’re so beautiful.” For a moment Adan forgot all about Oasis and the upcoming battle. The lines called out to him hypnotically. What could they be?

  “Yes, they are,” Will agreed, but his mind was distant, troubled once more by something Adan could not perceive.

  “Why do the Waymen call them blood rocks? Blood is red, not black.”

  “They call them that because of the people who have died here.” Will touched Adan lightly on the arm and pointed towards the glittering black strands. “And that is where we must go.”

  Thirty-Three

  The Whisper Cannon

  Adan looked with dread upon the dark lines before them. Moments before they seemed to be sparkling mysteries of great beauty. Now he wondered what terrible things they had witnessed.

  “Great and powerful seer, I and the other Reeves have come to see you off,” the voice of Sparc echoed across the flats. He and the other Reeves had assembled at the edge of the black rocks, solemn and subdued.

  “I call upon all of you as witnesses to the seer’s mastery of the ancient arts,” Sparc continued. “If there were any doubts amongst you that the time of legends has come, watch and behold as he braves the Desiccant Flats and lives.”