Time and Punishment by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin [Morin, J.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643553566
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eric felt the disturbance. Normally, catching someone altering the physical laws of the universe was like picking out the one person speaking Kejathi in a crowded restaurant. However, this ship was like a soft symphony, and one of the players had just tripped over a timpani drum.

Immediately, he switched his course to head toward it.

Soon after, a violinist stumbled into the cellist. Then, without pause, a brawl broke out in the brass section, with French horns and trumpets used as bludgeons.

There was no mistaking the direction of the disturbance. Eric’s feet hurried him along even before he’d decided this was a good idea. Sometimes, Eric wondered if his conscience was kept in his feet—or possibly his toes, since it seemed so very far from his thoughts just now.

This is dumb. I’m no fighter. That’s Jessie’s department. She went to fighting school. Joined the fighting department. Did a little extracurricular fighting when we were kids. I’m more of an apology guy.

Somehow, the plan of chasing down two ornery wizards and apologizing them into submission didn’t sound plausible. And Eric had generated a good deal of plause in his day.

Eric followed the nonsensical progression of corridors and rooms, constantly distracted by wondrous sights along the way. These haathee didn’t make their ships look all the same inside like so many humans. All humans. In fact, Eric had never really been inside a starship that seemed so deeply personalized at every turn. The furniture differed from room to room. Palettes changed. Decorative elements entered and exited fashion as he traveled along. Here and there, art installations perched on pedestals, had been painted on walls, and were etched into doors.

Wizards.

Eric was looking for wizards.

Right.

To his amazement, the occasional magical disturbances were veering toward him. He scowled accusingly at the fingertip he used as a light source. On the whole, it was a flicker, barely a scuffed shoe in his orchestra analogy. Had the change in his quarry been a coincidence? Uncle Enzio hadn’t believed in coincidences. He acknowledged their existence reluctantly but never gave them the blessing that came along with belief.

Eric was less certain.

He was, after all, heading his search away from the arboretum. Anyone searching toward it ought to cross paths with him along the way.

Something smelled.

Overall, there had been a variety of new scents on Grosstet’s ship. Most fell under the “civilized barnyard” umbrella in Eric’s mental lexicon. Earthy, or at least Earth-likey. Pungent musks. Soil fertilizer. A bunch that he’d need azrin nasal acuity to identify.

But this just smelled bad.

Rancid.

Dead.

Grimacing in advance, Eric entered the adjoining room and found the source of the odor.

Ovilak.

Dead.

Rotten. Decaying faster than natural, even.

He lay broken in a puddle of blood. Where eyes should have been, empty sockets drizzled red. The sight grew blurry as Eric blinked and rubbed his own eyes.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have let anyone go off alone. I promised to get him away from people persecuting him for being a weird cultist, and I got him killed by people who probably didn’t even know his religious affiliation.

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