Prologue: The Barren
Screams tore through the city as people rushed towards their homes. The air smelled thick with smoke. Stumbling out of the Tardis, the doctor fell to the ground and clawed at the earth. His dark skin burned against the heat of the surrounding flames.
"What the hell happened?" he croaked, reaching out to touch a sore spot on the back of his bald head. It felt warm and wet. Blood.
His hands shook, shock still exploding through his system. Both of his hearts pounded in his chest. Memories flooded his vision as if time itself was catching up.
The Doctor reached out, snatching at a woman's coat. "Excuse me—but why is everyone running away?"
The woman was short, blonde and wore a simple white blouse and pale-yellow skirt. It was torn, and the woman's denim coat had seen better days.
The woman's eyes were wide with panic. "They're coming! Run—for heavens sake, run!"
He frowned. "Hey, that's my line—Wait, what's coming?"
"You don't know?"
The doctor shook his head. "I'm just passing through... though, I seemed to have gotten myself lost. Where are we?"
The woman whipped her head round, frantically scanning the area before pulling him into an alleyway behind an old barn.
"We're in Kent," she said, whispering. She peered around the corner of the building. The bricks were old, crumbling in places. Even the pavement looked like it hadn't been touched in years.
"Kent..." he mumbled. He followed the woman's gaze into the street, frowning. "So, what are we hiding from?"
The woman pointed ahead, near where his box was still standing.
"The box?" He frowned. He laughed, relieved.
"Oh, thank goodness. No, it's just a box—it won't hurt any—"
The woman clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up!" she shrieked. Then, watched with her whole body shaking, as a figure stepped out from behind the Tardis.
The figure of a man in a cloak walked towards them. Beneath the cloak, they could see the dark trousers and deep red top. A belt wrapped around his waist held on to what appeared to be a sword.
"Who's that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"That's the Barren," she replied. "A few nights ago... he started killing."
The barren stepped closer. No one moved. The woman held her breath until the man moved on, turning the corner. When she breathed again, her face was visibly pale.
"Killing?" The doctor asked, frowning. "Killing who?"
"Anyone that crossed his path. Rumours suspect that he had simply gone mad. No one has been able to stop him thus far."
He frowned again. Thus. He knew that word. A thought niggled at him.
"I don't suppose you could tell me what the date is?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
He shrugged. "It could be nothing."
"It's 1820."
The Doctor froze, his body going rigid.
"What's wrong? Do you know something?"
"Uhm... Perhaps. How's the Prince, the Duke—Or the King?"
The woman looked at him, her faced scrunched in a puzzled expression. "What? The King? The King is fine—as far as I'm aware."
He rubbed his face. It hadn't happened yet. "So, no death in the royal?"
"What are you talking about? What's the royals got to do with it?"
"The Duke... or Barren... you said it's been three nights?"
She nodded, not understanding.
"I suspect that this is the night a royal die."
"What makes you say something so outrageous? Explain yourself!" She demanded.
He dragged his hands down his face. "Is the prince alive?"
"There is no prince," she retorted, "just the barren. He lost his title as Prince almost five years ago—and demoted from Duke three months later."
He frowned again. "No... I'm sure. Prince—the fourth son of King George."
"King George had one son, and he lost the title Prince. He was demoted for the harem scandal."
"That's... that's not right," he muttered, speaking out loud. "That's not how it went."
His eyes widened, grabbing hold of the woman's shoulders firmly, meeting her eyes. "This is earth, right? Kent, 1820."
"Yes," she huffed. "Earth, Kent, 1820. Just as it always has been." The woman took a small step back. "Listen, I think you may have hit your head back there. Let's get you to a doctor."
"I am a doctor..." he replied.
"Yeah, sure. I think you may have concussion."
"I'll go and see my doctor," he lied, slightly dazed. His glassy gaze turned towards his box.
"All right. Be careful."
With that, she turned and disappeared down the alleyway, her footsteps fading into the distance.
"What's your name?" He called out, before she was too far to hear him.
"Marie Dexter," she replied, then waved before she was gone.
He typed in the time period, scanning the system for historical data and changes.
The screen buffed, then loaded—a white page with a single word pixelated across the screen: ERROR.
His blood ran cold. He had entered an alternate timeline, and now the whole of history could be rewritten.
"What have I done?"
He leaned against his console, desperately reaching for a plan.
"I need to fix this," he sighed. "Whatever this is..."
He pulled out his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, staring at it as if it held the answer. It didn't.
Going on nothing but instinct, he followed his gut towards the barren's direction.
It didn't take long to find him. The sounds of screams and shouts to get inside echoed through the street.
"Barren Phillip," the Doctor called.
The man turned to face him, though his expression remained blank. His eyes were vacant, as if he was staring at a ghost.
"Are you all right?" The doctor called again, taking a slow cautious step towards him.
The barren drew his sword, his empty expression unchanged.
It was almost as if the barren was... sleeping.
He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, frowning. Was it really that easy? That simple? What did he have to lose?
He raised the sonic, pointing it towards a speaker pinned to a shop roof. Music was playing, a classical with violins. Slowly, the music frequency began to heighten. The melody became shrill until the music became nothing more than a high-pitched ring.
The barren stopped, then staggered forward. The doctor watched as the man became disorientated and confused. Then, collapsed to the ground, dropping the sword.
"What... What am I doing here?" He glanced down at his palms. Red, slick with blood. "Who's blood is this?"
The barren's mouth opened and closed, searching for the words. "What'd I do?"
The doctor crept slowly toward him, keeping his pace controlled and slow. "It's alright. You were sleepwalking."
"Sleepwalking?"
The doctor nodded. "It happens sometimes, with stress."
The barren's face paled. "The scandal. I shouldn't be here..."
"Let me help you get home. I'll make you some tea, it'll help—and prevent you from sleepwalking again in the future..."
"No! Stay away!" The barren screamed, panic rising. "I—I don't know what I did, but I know it was bad. I can feel it... I can feel the death... the life leaving my hands... I can still feel the blade..."
"I can help—"
The barren's eyes rolled back towards his head and his body fell to the ground with a hard thud.
The doctor raced towards him, reaching out as the barren's whole body shook, jerking violently against the earth before finally becoming still.
He reached out to touch the side of the Barren's neck, checking for a pulse. There was none. Foam drawled from the barren's mouth. Slowly, the doctor pulled back his hand, shaking slightly.
"Poison," he whispered. His brow twitched.
Whispers hummed around him, as the people emerged from their houses.
"Is it over?"
The doctor stood, looking grim. "Yeah. Looks like someone killed him. He didn't stand a chance."
"You? You saved us?"
His blood turned cold. "No. I didn't do anything. I just woke him up. Someone else did this to him."
"Who?"
The doctor shrugged. "We'll never know."
He took a deep breath and signalled for them to call the ambulance to remove the body. "There'll need to be an autopsy."
With that, he turned away and walked back towards his Tardis and glanced up towards the sky. A bright white light streaked across the black blanket of stars. A tear in the universe.
He shook his head, sombrely. There was only one way to fix that. He turned on the ignition of the Tardis and set the co-ordinates, praying for it not to crash into anything else. Then, hit the button and listened to the engine whirl to life.
As he approached the tear, he closed his eyes. He shoved his fist into the console and screamed. Regeneration energy burst in every direction and the tear sealed shut.
The last thing he remembered before everything turning black, was the Tardis spinning out of control. . .
