The Time Warriors and Beyond

All copyright Owen Quinn

Trinity is one of the stories that make up the Time Warriors: The Moon Once More and sees the Warriors face sn alien evil in ancient Ireland. Aided by a young slave boy, the Warriors may fall before this foe, the Soogara. Available on Amazon now.

                                    TRINITY

It slashed through space, its hull grey and pitted, engines pulsing in rapid movement. It moved with quiet determination, its conical shape almost invisible against the backdrop of star filled space, stars shimmering in its wake.

It had passed the moon moments before, its grey shell shape dark against the moon dust as it ploughed towards the blue green planet looming before it at a rapid pace.

Internal sensors flickered into life as it scanned this world and what it found satisfied it.

No technology, no industrial activity, scattered settlements, obviously very primitive. There would be no resistance. The world was abundant with all forms of life, both in the vast oceans and covering the land masses but only one of them would suffice.

It would land, hide and begin searching for the most suitable subject.

Its engines surged with new power as it calculated the course for entry into the atmosphere, flame licking at its shell as the nose cone penetrated the outer layers, heating to unsustainable temperatures as it fixed on the nearest land mass.

Scanners in overdrive, it changed course towards an island shaped like a puppy dog doing tricks for its master.

It was night here and its shape was barely visible in the dark. It dropped altitude swiftly, with solid intent and ploughed straight into the ground, external shields letting it slide in like a knife through butter.

The young man jerked awake. He shivered in the chilled night air, pulling his thick woven blanket tightly around him as his eyes adjusted to the dark and ears strained to hear something on the night air.

He had been dreaming of the angels again, vibrant white dancing amid the clouds singing hymns for the Lord. Their singing enraptured him; not in the way he had heard others sing, even his mother. A wave of sorrow swept over him as he recalled her gentle features and the lilt of her voice that made him feel safe.

No, the song of the angels reached your very soul, awakening an all consuming peace that permeated every fibre of your being. It filled your head so perfectly it made you feel you could sprout wings and soar among their numbers.

But something had disturbed his sleep, something that had thudded in the shield of night like a fox in a chicken coup. If he had really seen a flash briefly illuminate the land then it was gone. Amid his joyful slumber of heavenly joy, he couldn’t be sure. He quelled his breathing as he listened for anything abnormal.

The hay that served as his bed rustled as he moved to check the window with its thick wooden shutter. He fumbled with the rusted latch and peeked outside.

The Irish countryside rolled in all directions around him, dark mountains nestled around the valley like sleeping giants, ready to awake at the first sign of trouble.

The fortress of his Lord Milchu was but a dark shape in the night, its thick walls, dotted by tiny pin pricks of candle light.

It was full of soldiers and staff, all asleep in beds, their slumber undisturbed and probably fuelled by the evil brews concocted in the great halls.

The young man closed the shutter firmly but the draught still wafted through teasingly. He bunched the straw back into a deep nest and settled into it, thick dirty blanket drawn round him.

This was a land of pagans where the Druids held ritualistic sacrifice and spoke of demons and creatures that suckled the night like newborn infants to their mother’ breast.

But the young man, brutally torn from his family five years hence, knew there was a greater truth, one that kept him going, giving him the satisfaction that there was hope for this land and its people.

His prayers were his constant companion, the only thing that helped him tend to his master’s flock. His mind soared to the realms of heaven with increasing frequency sometimes at times that brought him to his knees in shock.

He closed his eyes, reaching for welcome sleep again; maybe his dreams were making his imagination run wild.

The soldier yawned as his horse cantered along the countryside, on his way back to Lord Milchu’s fortress.

Lynas O’Connell had been on a trade mission for his Lord in Cork for several weeks.

The trade mission had been a success and would ensure both Lords profitable harvests for years to come thanks to Lynas’s natural born talent and some advice from the Druids.

As the horse cantered over the top of Mount Cairn, Lynas gave his horse’s reins a gentle but firm tug as he paused to look over the familiar spread of his home.

Although shrouded in darkness, the countryside was exactly as he left it and he could see the pin pricks lights in Milchu’s fortress, giving him a warm feeling inside.

He had served his Lord Milchu for many years, becoming one of his most trusted aides.

Milchu had saved him death as a young man when raiders killed his family and left him for dead.

Milchu, the fledgling son of the chieftain had found him and angered by the carnage took Lynas into his charge where they both trained in Milchu’s father’s army and quickly became as close as brothers.

Lynas’s parents had brought him up to respect and value the kindest of others and his gratitude to Milchu and his family had been cemented over the years.

His wife and children lived comfortably in a small cottage a mile away from the fortress and his heart ached to see them again.

His thick woollen tunic and trousers were damp with sweat as his heavy black cloak trailed out behind him with every movement of the horse. His helmet had chaffed his forehead on the journey but he suffered it as he imagined his wife’s gentle finger’s massaging ointment into it before they fell into their bed to make up for lost time.

He urged the horse on with a sharp kick to its flanks.

With a protesting grunt, its sturdy hooves took the ground firmly. Nearing the bottom of the moor, the horse suddenly began slowing, throwing its head back nervously.

Lynas tried to settle it but it began to whinny fearfully and stomp its hooves agitatedly, stirring the grass into clods. Warrior instincts kicking in, Lynas immediately began scanning the area.

Where there raiders hidden in the darkness ready to storm Milchu’s fortress and steal his wealth and lands?

If so, Lynas needed to get his horse back to the fortress and warn his lord. What he could see were hillocks filled with rocks and boulders amid skeletal forms of bushed and wild shrubs, the darkness shifting like silent assassins, invisibility their best weapon.

It was a good place for an ambush, he knew. Had he stumbled into a trap? His thick muscled arms flashed to the side of the horse and pulled out his broadsword, brandishing the heavy weapon with skilled hands.

He held it defiantly, making sure if there was anyone watching, they would see Lynas wouldn’t be an easy target. He would defend Milchu to his last breath, for tradition and honour.

A sound. A hiss. Lynas gave a gasp of surprise as the horse bucked, whinnying in fear.

There was something there.

Nothing he could see but something that seethed in the dark making his mind scream with fear.

A shrub rattled as something moved around it, the sound amplified in the silence.

Lynas’s sweaty hands tried to gain a tighter hold on the cracked black leather reins but his steed gave a violent jerk, rearing on its back legs. Lynas lost his grip, falling back arms flailing, his sword disappearing into the bushes.

Freed from his weight, the horse slammed back to the ground, powerful legs shooting it forward. Lynas called out to it, making to run after it.

He stopped as the huge chestnut horse suddenly froze in mid stride, eyes wide in terror, legs actually frozen in midair.

Something insidious had gripped it in a myriad of writhing tentacles that had spurted from beneath the rough ground itself in an invisible blur through the darkness.

Frozen with terror, Lynas could only watch as the slick tentacles wrapped round his steed snapping the horse’s spine as they contracted, tightening their grip to the point the horse crumpled like paper, eyes bulging, the air sharp with cracking bone before it was sucked into the ground like water flowing over rocks.

With a horrified cry, Lynas began to run back the way he came, seeking another way down to the fortress. His heart pounded as his legs carried him across the uneven rocky ground.

He called upon the gods to protect him as he slid down a grassy slope, rocks cutting his hands and knees as he rolled back into a running position.

He could see the lights of the fortress, urging him to hurry, to escape the demon in the dark. He pressed forward; hope rising in him before his breath was cut short by the tendril that wrapped round hid neck, yanking him back.

His screams were cut short as it tightened, as other tendrils reached out and ensnared him. He struggled, face purple, his arms flailing before he disappeared in a mass of black tentacles beneath the ground.

In seconds, the night shimmered back into silence.