Tin Universe Monthly #1
Copyright 2016 Brian Williams
An Original Publication of BLOODWASTE BOOKS, A Bloodwaste Books book published by System*Publishing, a division of System*Productions, Melbourne, Florida
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead or living dead, is entirely and very much so in the coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. While unauthorized reproduction is sometimes needed, please remember us writers types are for the most part a poor lot just in search of a ways to tell our stories and enough money to add to our Doctor Who collections….well, at least that fits me.
Written/Edited by Brian C. Williams
1st Draft Edit on Original Edition by Robbin Cochran
Cover Artwork Pencils and Inks by John Delmonte
Author Photo by Nancy Collins
Tin Universe Logo by Vinny Bove
PART ONE
Chapter One
Long ago in the history of the planet Earth things were much simpler. Simpler doesn’t mean better, but yes, simpler it was.
It was in fact so long ago that it was more towards the beginning of the planets lifespan than the end.
And everything has an end in time.
This man we are about to talk about, he was living a life and no he would not say it was a simple life. He was called Bran of The Raven Clan by his people. If you placed this uncomplicated hard working man against other types of people throughout history he would equally stand beside Appalachian coalminers, Canadian loggers, and Siberian farmers and be excepted as one of them. He was ordinary in how he was universal.
His people would later be referred to by many names including The Firbolg and The Tuatha De Danann. One of their early triumphs which became part of their passed down oral narrative was an encounter with a Spider God that came out of the sky that was so large it blacked out the sun.
The Spider God was devouring the people of these lands to feed the birth of its own children but these commonplace human beings refused to be meals and killed the spider who they found out was no God at all but a traveler from another reality.
The land of Bran’s people would in time be known as Ireland but at this time it was called Lir. Lir, the Land of The God Killers.
That name of God Killers dyed out over time to be just another part of stories told as these people to their hearts were fishermen and had no desire to be anything else.
Bran was the last of his family, a young man pushed to be an adult at a very early age after his whole family- father, mother, and older sister died at sea during a trip to let his sickly sister see the sea she loved so much one more time before she died.
He survived the storm which smashed the boat they were traveling on and took away from him his family. And even though he has a great fear of the sea because of what it took from him, he has a place in the clan as one of its best fishermen.
On this day Bran was preparing a boat for an earlier morning trip out for the winter fishing season. During the winter the catch is scarce but to help feed the village the fishermen venture out in hopes of bringing enough back to feed one more member of the clan in case they run short of what they had stored away from the summer season for the harsh winter months.
Bran was always the first to the boats each day. He would have everything ready for all three of the villages fishing boats before anyone else arrived.
On this fogy morning which wiped away the sight of anything expect for what was right in front of him Bran thought he saw, could not have been, but he thought he saw a man walking towards him upon the waters of the beach line.
When the man was close enough for Bran to identify him as a stranger to the village he looked down at the man’s feet and saw his boots were dry so the morning fog must have been playing tricks with his eyes?
Though there wasn’t any sand on them either?
A lot of tribes and clans are closed off to strangers but The Raven Clan was open to all people. They welcomed all who are friendly, or in need into their lives and would give their last piece of bread to feed someone they had never seen before.
But as the stranger walked closer towards him in the fog Bran could not understand or fight a deep rooted hatred of this man within every thread of his person. Just by the sight of him Bran had something deep within him screaming that this man wasn’t a man at all.
The stranger was dressed as Bran had been told in childhood stories by his father that the legendary warriors of Ard Righ dressed right before going into battle.
He was wearing body armor that appeared to be made of beaten, tightened, and stiffened animal skins. His other clothing appeared to be made of the wool of sheep and goat hair as was the clothing of Bran’s people. The wool was dyed a bright color of red so dark Bran had never seen before and the stranger’s boots were of a single piece and seemed to be made from Elven means as they appeared so perfect in measure of leather.
Bran instantly had something from within, something primal whisper the word Death to his soul.
He anchored down the last of the boat ropes in case the high winds kicked up like they normal did during the hours of the morning. He tightened up the last of the net bundles and looked back up to find the stranger was now face to face with him with his hand out to Bran in a friendly greeting.
‘I am Donn. I have traveled a long way to meet with you Bran of The Raven Clan.’
‘How do you know me? Are you from a relative clan of ours?’
‘No, I know of the tragic events that have been laid upon your shoulders. I have come to offer you guidance and all I ask is your servitude.’
‘Servitude is the most you can ask of any man, are you of royalty sir? You dress like those of Ard Righ?’
‘Your father talked a lot about the warriors of Ard Righ didn’t he? Do you know why he knew so much about of them?’
Bran just looked at the stranger half wondering about the questions which were just asked to him. He didn’t have any sort of answer; which does raise even more questions.
He was wondering also why he had not already put his knife to this man’s throat for speaking of his family this soon after their deaths, which is against the traditions of his clan.
‘Your father was a warrior of Ard Righ.’
‘My father was a hunter before his children were born and was a hunter up to his day of death.’
‘What better occupation is there for an old warrior to take up? Is it not also the hunters of your clan who provide the food for your people as well as being the protectors?’
‘My father was a warrior?’
Bran pulled out his knife which once belonged to his father and looked at the blade and then the stranger. Even though he still felt the pull to use it to kill this stranger, the new information he was just given about his father was taken in with such a force of truth that it was almost overwhelming.
‘Does this mean you have come to make me into a warrior also?’ asked Bran
‘Nothing so mundane Bran of The Raven Clan.’
Bran looked at his blade again seeing his father’s face in the shine of the blade. Then he put it away. As he put the knife away he felt a calming enter his heart that he hadn’t felt since before the death of his family.
Donn put his arm around Bran grabbing him by the far shoulder but now he had a wide trickster smile on his face, ‘I will make a firm deal offer many years from now. I see you could probably need an extra hand in one of your boats this morning. We could talk more.’
Bran looked at the stranger with a
long face. The long face was filled with thoughts of a lost friend, ‘We are short a hand. Egan of The Fire Clan died of the long fever two days from this day.’
‘I know.’ Donn said with a smile that was misplaced for the subject of their conversation.
That angered Bran.
As Donn climbed into the boat, ‘I have been told I’m quite the fishermen of men.’
But before Bran could reply with the anger he was feeling the other fishermen of the village started to arrive. They were introduced to the stranger and soon boats are launched in search of fish for the village.
This would turn out to be one of the best winter fishing trips anyone in the village could remember, but when the subject of the stranger being a good luck charm came up Donn told each one in turn the same thing, ‘That’s a new one for me.’
Chapter Two
Still in the past but later forward in the Past.
The tomb was located in the low lands at the bottom of a large group of hills. It was marked by three large standing stones with one large stone capping them on top. Most of the surrounding areas are Carnnogs, which are marshy lands. This was once part of a fishing village many years ago.
Within the Carnogs are old bridges. Some of them only stretching in a few feet of distance built for reaching from one dwelling to another without having to tread through the marsh.
Those marshes can be full of all kinds of nasty things.
A short distance from the tomb, which was the marker for the last of The Raven Clan, there now sits a larger in scoop village which has a new industry instead of fishing to feed their village.
The industry of war.
The people of this village, a village called Nabia, are blacksmiths for the current Kings campaign to hold off an advancing foreign army.
Within the village is an old holy man. Not holy in the way you may think but holy in that he is a teacher of the young, keeper of the town’s history, counsel to all who needs his words of wisdom, and holy shit he’s old holy. He is called Bran.
It has been many years. Many, many, many years since the time when Bran meet a stranger named Donn on an early winter morning before going out to sea.
At this moment he is sitting in his home writing down the history of his family, the stories of his old village, and the tales of his clan. These chronicles have become his life’s work. Putting down truths and lies because what is any history of any people without some good lies.
Today he thinks of that day of fishing with the stranger but also the many days that followed. The long years he has lived beyond those of any normal human. He is not a lucky man just because of the long life span he has enjoyed but from the joy of his young wife and his soon to be born first child. It took him so long to find genuine love but now he has it.
His young wife, Aoife- the youngest daughter of the chief of the village, was barely surviving the pains of labor in the next room from where he was writing. Some had thought she would never find a man who could live up her standards of what she wanted but that was before she meet him. His mysterious nature and many stories of the past caught her attention like nothing any other man of her time could offer to her.
Though some saw her as totally rebellious to what a woman of her time was expected to do in life, she in fact had been trying for years to give her husband a child to continue his bloodline. Something that was very important to him.
Her cries of a ruthless labor were being heard throughout the village and between the shouts of his wife and the shouts of the village’s midwife Bran almost didn’t notice the sound of his own front door opening.
But he did notice and was stunned by the sight of Donn walking in.
Donn stood by the door for a while before turning to Bran as if he was getting us to his surroundings before getting on with what he was here to do.
Bran stood and reached out his hand in a way like he was greeting an old friend he had not seen in ages. And though time had been very good to Bran’s appearance he could not help but look in wonder at a man who not only did not appear to have aged a day from that time so long ago but someone who also was wearing the same clothing, in the same manner, as if the wind had not blown a piece of cloth astray nor a bit of dirt or mud had ever touched any part of its surface.
He could even see a few fish scales on Donn’s boots.
Bran grasped the arm of Donn in greeting, ‘You come at a joyous time old friend. My wife Aoife is giving birth now to our first born.’
Donn looked towards the bedroom door where loud screams where growing in intensity. Some find it interesting that for the most part we come into the world screaming for our lives and we leave silent for Death.
He likes it that way.
‘No, not first born of Bran.’
Bran suddenly starts thinking about the death and sickness that follows this man’s words, actions, and appearance, and those thoughts turn him around to where the two men were facing each other. ‘What do you mean Bringer of Waste?’
He was now angry at the appearance of this man in his home.
‘Bringer of Waste? I have been called worse. Bran, Last of The Raven Clan, I have come to make you an offer. An offer I gave to you once years before. I can give you the life of your child but only if you pledge to be the keeper of my secrets and the chronicler of my walks through this world and others. What do you say to this offer?’
Bran grabs Donn with both hands by his chest piece, ‘Are you a demon or just a harbinger?’
‘A demon?’ Donn rolled his eyes, ‘No. I was once a part of the Heavens that are above all else but I then I joined The Fallen. That ancient story though has yet to reach your lands. I am here because I know within an hour you have the ability to make a choice that will save your child. You become the keeper of my library and I will grant through the powers of Death that your son who will be known as Nuada. He will be a man who will have a Kingship that will become legendary.’
Bran looked at this man and once again knew without reasoning that everything this man spoke of and moved toward was a truth so cold it entered his mouth and ached to his back teeth and choked him like having a small spear shoved down his throat.
Then with a swiftness that punched him hard in the chest he heard nothing but silence from the room where screams of birth had been emanating from for the past sixteen previous hours.
He let go of Donn and closed his eyes but when he opened them seconds later the man was preoccupied looking over the book that Bran had been writing in and with a wave of a finger erasing certain passages and another wave of a finger replacing them with even clearer words of storytelling.
Chapter Three
This reality came to become known as The Tin Universe or The Tin for short by means of a traveler called Record. He was lost at the time when he stumbled upon it and then got extremely drunk with a group of Caspery scouts during a scientific expedition to a moon, not our moon, but a moon. He was depressed at being lost and when asked all the places he had travelled he went on a rant and when he got to where he was he said, “…and then you have this tin bit place.’
This Earth on which the stories of this book take place is much like our own but there are differences in a few noticeable ways. Different in the sort of ways brothers are different from one another and sisters are not. The way cats are different from one another but dogs are not.
One pretty noticeable difference is that there are no sharks in this reality. No sharks. The dolphins are fine, so take a deep breath and breathe Flipper fans.
Plenty of whooping cranes mucking about too, but no sharks; so, the “Jaws” theme music no longer strikes the fear in the hearts of half naked women on the beaches of Maine like it once did.
Speaking of Maine did you know it is the toothpick capital of the world? Good for them, it is always good to be a “Something of the world.”
The reason for sharks being extinct is the same typical story of humanity acting with no respect to its harm on everything around it. The s
tory, as I am writing or rewriting it, is like this: All sharks were killed off after a group of school children died while swimming in California.
I possibly should have made it Maine for a little pop culture tie-in but I did the California thing.
Maine was the location of the Jaws films, right? If it wasn’t I’ve mentioned Maine too many times for no good reason.
The extinct sharks story goes in more detail as a scientist genetically engineered a poison that he naively, in a naive way scientists should not be naive, thought it would just kill sharks who got too close to the shores of beaches. Instead it infected the entire species and wiped them all off the face of the Earth.
It has affected the entire ecosystem to be totally precise but the signs of that are just starting to be seen. Though many just call that hippy liberal twaddle.
All Great Whites are dead as well as all hammerheads and all other kinds of sharks.
All sharks, died out, gone, forever.
Hold me to that if I screw up in a future story and have someone lost at sea and surrounded by sharks. You can watch me try to squirm up a reason for it.
The last group of sharks to die out was the freshwater sharks of Lake Nicaragua. This punch to the ecosystem of the sea also is slowly killing off all sea life. Didn’t I mention it was having wide ranging effects? But human beings have not noticed and probably will not until it is too late to have a Discovery Channel special about it.
I want to say the scientist who caused all this met justice but in truth he went on to be a very rich man who later also invented a poison that killed the Bed Bugs off little children’s beds.
Don’t laugh these were alien bed bugs with a taste for the blood of young children that were attracted to Earth’s atmosphere by a new bug spray released by a chemical company that also developed chemical weapons for the military.
Sort of a circle anti-life there wasn’t it.
Chapter Four
I might from time to time in this book delve into more of these the ways this reality is different from our own.
Things are also different in how there was never a Gulf War. The Iraqi Army was driven out of Kuwait by an unknown force the soldiers who faced it called- The Devil Made of Sand.