Time On Your Hands

By Manuel Tristante and Carlos Gran

A story full of adventures and values from the hand of Manuel Tristante and Carlos Gran!

Excerpt from the novel: "Time is such a wise judge that he does not sentence immediately, but in the end he agrees with whoever has it and gives everyone what he deserves."

Synopsis:

They say that time changes things, but sometimes, in reality, we ourselves must change them. From immemorial time, the Erbani have traveled the world under a great responsibility, helping us see things differently. Arthas, the Master Clockmaker, has finished the last Megidometer of Time and Azim, his Keeper, will be in charge of taking him to Gary. Time cannot erase his problems magically, but Gary knows that he can use it to his advantage. In Hy Tairngire, the Promised Island, he will find Tim's friendship and discover everything he needs to achieve it.

What will you find?
1 Fiction, adventures, friendship and values.
2 A parallel, paradisiac and liberating universe.
3 An unforgettable time travel.
4 Two simultaneous antagonistic times.

What Readers Say:
"A fantasy novel that allows accompanying the character in discovering him, in his passage to the tranquility and appreciation of life beyond what others determine", Cuatro Bastardos, magazine.

"It is a book that captivates with its magic, with its sad reality and with the message of hope that it transmits", Weaving in Klingon, blog.

"If you like fantasy, knowing other dimensions and playing with space-time travel, this is undoubtedly your book", Etérea Sanguez, GoodReads.

"Read between the lines and once you have finished the book, meditate on the key phrases and reflect. Because the Time that we have been given, there is only one", Kike BlackArrow, reader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Feb 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781547571871

Book preview

Time On Your Hands

Manuel Tristante, Carlos Gran

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Translated by Elii McGrew 

Time On Your Hands

Written By Manuel Tristante, Carlos Gran

Copyright © 2023 Manuel Tristante, Carlos Gran

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Elii McGrew

Cover Design © 2023 Manuel Tristante

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

TIME ON YOUR HANDS

CARLOS GRAN

MANUEL TRISTANTE

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Time on your hands

To Adrià and Evan, the last ones to arrive.

- Carlos Gran

To my Aunt Rosi, and my cousins Virginia, Gloria, Raquel, Juanamari and Silvia del Pilar, my biggest fans.

- Manuel Tristante

Do not forget to support the culture by sharing your thoughts with your friends and family and leaving comments on the story read. In this way, you help the authors continue creating.

Table of Contents:

Prologue: The Master Clockmaker.

1. Cursed.

2. Never.

3. Runaway.

4. Insults.

5. The Visit.

6. Fears.

7. Zero Hours.

8. Tim.

9. Questions.

10. Return.

11. Hy Tairngire.

12. Arthas’s Secret.

13. Enal-Tyum.

14. Remembrances.

15. Fate.

Epilogue: The Search.

Acknowledgments.

Enchanting is the land beyond all dreams, clearer than anything your eyes have ever seen, there throughout the year, the buds are in bloom, and all the year they bloom. There the wild honey drips from the trees of the forest, the reserves of wine and food will never be lacking. No pain or disease knows its inhabitant, death and decay will never get there.

The Promised Island.

Prologue:

THE MASTER CLOCKMAKER

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It was a closed night and the cold lashed violently. The whisper of the wind could be heard from inside the house when it hit the windows and the screeching of the weather vane attached to the roof did not presage a quick improvement of the weather. Stormy days were coming. Luckily the fireplace warmed the room, there was enough firewood and blankets and human warmth did the rest.

‘The Weather Vane rotates tirelessly and the seasons pass by leaving behind memories that will soon become legends, probably forgotten long before the wind blows and push again,’ he thought. ‘However, that wind is not the beginning, for there are no beginnings or endings in the eternal rotation of the Weather Vane, but a place in the depth of the seven seas, surrounded by water, where the Promised Island is located, or as some call it: Hy Tairngire.’

Gary was sitting in a comfortable chair while reciting those words to himself. He went a little closer to the bed and tucked his daughter, Tim, in, who waited impatiently, like every night, for a new tale or story.

The man was old and tired, but his face barely reflected it.

Despite his belated fatherhood, he was happy with his life and gave thanks every day for having fulfilled his dreams, waking up with each dawn and reveling in it.

The story that I am going to tell you today, my daughter, is a story that happened a long time ago and that I keep for me as the greatest of my treasures. He looked at her tenderly. It was his reflection, above all in his gaze and in what he conveyed without speaking. The color of his eyes, green as the freshest leaf of a tree, reminded him of the overwhelming abundance of a land already far away. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. My expectation is not that you understand everything now, although I know that the time has come to tell you about it. If it is not now, I know that someday, in some way, you will find the meaning of it. 

Is it another story of dragons, princes and princesses, papa?

Gary smiled briefly. Those were the stories that she liked. However, the one he was going to tell her was not about dragons, princes or princesses but about a person who had to overcome more battles than any warrior.

No. This time it will be something different. Something more personal...

Tim looked at him, curious.

It happened to you, right? She asked, mischievous.

Truth be told, it is better that you listen to it and draw your own conclusions.

There were no more questions, just silence and Gary’s words coming out of his throat like notes from a song made chorus.

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"Time in Hy Tairngire passed in a very different way to other places in the world, seeming to stop. This was due to the great power emitted by the Enal-Tyum, a large clock that radiated power and protected its inhabitants, the Erbani, from any calamity or unwanted visit. It was not easy to access it and only a lucky few in the world had been able to verify that it really existed and that Arthas lived there, the Master Clockmaker, the Timekeeper.

Arthas always knew the importance of knowing the value of time, since time for her was life. Life and time were the best teachers one could have. Life taught you to take advantage of time and time taught you to value life. And for that reason she never wasted it, but she appreciated it as if it was a treasure. She knew that an incorrect management of it could negatively influence the decision making, the work done and, ultimately, the progress of our lives. And that, sooner or later, all those pieces would end up fitting.

Without a doubt, time passed. It did not stop to wait for anyone, although sometimes one would think the opposite. Time could not be changed, Arthas knew that well; however, she did know how to be able to control it.

The Master Clockmaker was in one of the rooms of Heriandor, the temple that safeguarded the Enal-Tyum. It was a hall of tall marble columns, with a floor and ceiling of gold, surrounded by a glass funnel in whose center was the clock. The whole temple itself looked like a great hourglass. Inside it flew millions of small crystal fragments of golden light that symbolized time. First they went up, took a few laps and accumulated until twelve o’clock and later they descended and re-entered the clock. And so on cycle after cycle; day after day.

Used as a workshop, in a small room where her workplace lay, was the Master Clockmaker. She was the highest authority in Tairngire and many profess a great respect for her. The Erbani had a very advanced science and technology in relation to the common human, so it was not surprising that Arthas was the only one of her kind capable of inventing this kind of gadgets so similar to the clocks of a lifetime, but at the same time so different from the conventional. She never designed two equals, each one was special, built for a single purpose and for someone in particular.

At last he had finished his last job. He lifted it up and looked at it proudly. No, it was not just any clock, it was a Megidometer of Time. Another one of the many that she had made in her long life. The creation of such a wonderful utensil housed a very complex automatic assembly and great refinement in its interior. This made it a type of clock that was much appreciated among the Erbani. Among its small components could be found screws, bridges, quartz, rubies (which avoided friction), platinas and wheels, among others. By winding the clock by a switch almost negligible to the human eye, the Megidometer managed to transmit movement between the different gears (all of different sizes) and trigger the operating mechanism that was responsible for maintaining the momentum of the clock and control of time thanks to the movement of its internal needles. But, apart from that, it had a great magical power.

Suddenly they knocked on the door repeatedly insistently.

Arthas lowered her arms and turned around. She was waiting for Azim’s arrival, because she had called him. The Timekeeper had been punctual, just as she liked it.

My lady?

Cautiously, Azim approached her and, before he could say anything, the woman with tan skin and amber eyes stared at him.

It is already done. Time is short. She inserted the clock attached with a thin gold chain into a small wooden box decorated at the top with two needles engraved with fire. The life of the chosen one will depends on the work you do tonight.

Azim took a step back. He looked at Time suspended inside the Enal-Tyum and then at Arthas. The particles flew faster through the funnel with a different tonality than normal. They used to be a golden color, but now they acquired a different shade, shiny silver. It was the first time he saw something like that.

Azim, Arthas’s voice sounded rude, there’s-no-time. Look!

Azim looked at where Arthas was pointing. The pinpoints of light in the ascent were forming an image: a woman was walking through the streets, alone, hugging her belly. She cried, scream out in pain and at the same time shivered. She was barely wearing clothes that protected her from the wind and the falling snow.

The Keeper looked back at Arthas and nodded; the time had come to embark on a new quest.

He looked for the Illuminator in his tunic and found it in his right pocket. Surely he would make good use of it that dark, stormy night.

My lady... Azim said in a farewell way.

The Illuminator was like a light knife hidden in a metal sheath activated by the push button. When Azim pressed it, the sharp blade rose, ripped the air and a crack of light opened.

Good luck, Azim, were Arthas’s last words before the Keeper crossed the Arc of Time, nodding."

1

«CURSED»

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Nördlingen, Germany.

Year 1969

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She took one last look at the children’s room and closed the door, exhausted. She leaned a few seconds on the wall, just below the lamp whose light illuminated her pale face, stroking her belly and sighed. How much longer could she continue to endure that situation? The days were exhausting, her legs swelled when she stood for a long time and her back suffered the weight of her belly. She knew she could not hide it for much longer. Sooner or later they would realize and then...

It was better not to think about it. She was already suffering from too many nightmares that did not allow her to sleep, so as to turn the matter around for the rest of the day.

She picked up a lock of blond hair and prepared to go downstairs to inform her lady that both children were sleeping and that she was retiring to rest, but she had not yet descended two steps when a horrible pain pierced her belly. A thick drop of sweat ran down her forehead. 

The woman suppressed the urge to scream, hugging her belly, appreciating how tears flowed from her eyes as the pain subsided. She took a breath trying to calm down and continued her descent, but again the pain returned; one, two and even three more times, with more insistence.

No, it could not be, not now. She prayed looking at the roof of the house.

She retraced her steps, leaning against the wall, and entered what had been her room; she grabbed her coat and painfully went down to the first floor. She did not care to be seen. She went out into the open, her eyes watering in tears, and closed the door with a loud bang.

She tried to run, but the weight of her belly and suffering did not allow it.

She heard the door open behind her. She hid behind some trees with uncontrolled breathing while listening to the voice of her lady with that German accent so marked that she had and that made her unmistakable, calling her.

Hanna? Hanna? Where are you? There was fear in her voice. Hanna!

Hanna covered her mouth when a new sting of pain pierced her belly, trying so that no sound escaped her mouth, much less when the lady went out to the sidewalk, in search of the governess.

Is something wrong, Hanna? Where have you gotten?

Hanna circled the trees and scuttled down a street that surrounded the house, aimlessly.

Why have you decided to come into the world so soon, my son? She asked miserably.

The snow fell copiously and the streets were more than a foot thick. The cold froze the entrails. Where would she go now? She needed to find a roof as soon as possible to protect herself if she did not want to die frozen from the cold or give birth in the middle of the street. She did not have much money to pay for a pension, but she hoped that in her state they would make an exception. The contractions were getting stronger.

Suddenly she stopped and felt hot liquid trickling down her legs: she had broken water. She did not have much time left. What if it had been a bad idea to leave her lady’s house? If she had been sincere from the first moment maybe she would have understood and...

No, she would not have done it. The last governess had been fired for the same reason and she would have suffered the same fate. She still had to give thanks for having allowed her secret to remain hidden for so long.

Nördlinge was not a very big town. Its perimeter was an almost perfect circumference, sunk in a valley in the shape of a crater and surrounded by a wall and defensive towers, already in disuse. All the inhabitants knew each other and no secret could