almorrall

[almorrall]

Home by the Sea

Chapter One

Mia studied the subway map, baffled as sin. Green, orange, red, blue, silver, and purple lines intersected across the Boston Metro. She’d toured the gold-domed capital building on Boston Common as a kid, but rarely returned in her twenty-six years. Boston was a mass of nonsensical cart paths paved by mad architects, drunk on whiskey and beans. The “T” or subway transit system was more humanely designed, but only barely. Completed in 1897, it was America’s oldest subway. That meant it constantly broke down, an ancient underworld existed between platforms, and it was incomprehensible for outsiders to navigate.

Mia was from Massachusetts, but she was an outsider here. Dodging Korean tourists and doddering Midwest families, she boarded a southbound train at Davis Square, down the street from her new apartment. She rode the red line, surrounded by eager med students, burnt-out commuters, and homeless junkies. The T rattled and rolled, wincing over every track bump, which were countless. She disembarked at Park Street beneath Boston Common: the confluence of red, orange, and green lines and a madhouse at its quietest. It was six PM on a Friday, so she swam like a salmon upstream, shoved, elbowed, kicked, and hissed at.

Something compelled her forward. She was committed to making her date. As always, she wanted to be on time and make a good impression. At least her parents taught her that much. Or did they? She considered herself mostly self-taught, from a family of salty fishermen, raised in one of Gloucester’s tiny row houses. Her house was worth a fortune these days, that close to water and Irish dive bars. Not that her parents would ever sell. They’d let Poseidon wash the place underwater instead of pay flood insurance and taxes or sell of their finally paid-off home.

Destiny awaited her at Kenmore Square, she knew it. Boarding the green line, filled with buzzing Ivy League kids and Red Sox fanatics, she opened her decrepit flip phone. It was scratched, silver, and its top half hung by a plastic thread. A student in a crimson college sweater peered over her shoulder and asked why they still made those. She responded, “Some people can’t afford iPhones. And some people went to Salem State, not Harvard.” It still did email and texting, thank God. She reviewed the text messages from her date.

They’d met on Tinder, and he promised to be her local Boston guide, since she just moved here from Gloucester. She reviewed his shirtless selfies from two days before: a handsome hunk posing beside a hundred-foot yacht with aviators on. Sunglasses made her think he hid something. She had to know if he was that Austin, heir to the Moore family electronics fortune, as her Google searches suggested. He was a dead ringer for the family’s first son, but she wondered why he needed Tinder. Surely his parents could arrange a marriage with fellow Cape Cod country club members, as did other Boston Brahmins.

She needed Tinder, as an outsider looking in at Boston’s high life. Gloucester was famous for launching The Perfect Storm fishermen on their way to watery graves. Her dad loved that movie. He basically had to as a generational Gloucester fisherman. Dad maintained that George Clooney’s character was much uglier and drunker in real life, however. The same applied to everyone’s fantasy of Gloucester’s hardworking sailors. Mia was salty enough for a lifetime, so she found a sublet on Craigslist with random roommates. Her mother warned that’s how young girls died, and she couldn’t argue. She was headfirst for the deep end.

The last straw was her parents asking for rent to live in their moldy basement that flooded every spring and fall. Gloucester’s other claim to fame was its teenage pregnancy scandal. For that, Mia’s mom put the fear of God in her. She barely talked to a boy until college. Her English degree was paramount at Salem State. Nothing distracted her from Creative Writing and Arthurian Legends. Receiving her diploma, she recognized its uselessness. For three years, she wrote police logs and liquor store exposés for her local Gloucester Gazette. She saved enough tips working as a barista at Starbucks for a down payment on her Somerville apartment.

Mia escaped pregnancy, and her parents, to find a new home. Austin Moore could be her beau, or at least a gold mine for an aspiring journalist. She’d landed a copywriter gig at the Boston Rag online newspaper only a week before. She owed God and the devil both a favor for landing a newspaper job in 2025. Journalism was a gig where nobody retired, and nobody hired either. It paid ten bucks an hour and would keep her afloat long enough for second month’s rent. She’d have to work side hustles to eat, and she prayed Austin footed the bill tonight. He himself was born a millionaire, after all, not to mention his family’s hundreds of millions more.

She disembarked at Kenmore Square and the T screeched away. She looked at her phone. Google Maps crashed because she had no service. She had no idea what direction to exit the station. Belligerent Red Sox fans trampled her feet and bashed her arms, telling her to “f— off, lady.” The proper Boston welcome. Why did she bankrupt herself moving here? Why did she bother trekking downtown to meet some sleazy, self-born millionaire? He’d take one look at her Converse and daisy dukes and hightail it to a strip joint. He probably knew the bouncer and every lady inside. A few drinks later and he’d forget she ever existed.

Mia ascended from the T’s human ant farm to a Boston sun that framed Kenmore’s sky-high condos and melted her senses. She stumbled like a blind woman without her stick, colliding with something iron. White specks flashed over black, thinking she headbutted a light post. Tiger-like hands caught her shoulders before she crumpled to the pavement. They held her up, refusing to leave her broken and alone. Her green eyes acclimated, meeting the calm blues of Austin Moore, just as Tinder and Google promised. His smile was easy, wavy brown hair framed by broad shoulders in a tight navy Polo.

“Good thing you were early,” she straightened. She tried to fix her blonde curls, lopsided and wild, but his hands still held her. His grip surprised her, but something inside didn’t want them to let go. Was it possible to be so smitten at first glance? She didn’t believe in love at first sight, or miracles, or unicorns. Anymore at least. Gloucester’s dull grey tide, and a dozen hang-overs, beat that out of her decades back.

“Didn’t mean to be,” he laughed. “Guess your pictures got me here on time.”

“Just my pictures?” she smiled. They’d been texting for days. She thought they had some connection beyond physicality. “Did you really take soil from Hemingway’s garden in Key West?”

“Come to my apartment. I’ll show you.”

“Where’s that?” she asked. He was moving too fast, but his grin said he knew it. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

“No worries, Mia.” Her name on his lips was a song.

“I’m not that easy either. You’ll be lucky to get a kiss. Momma made me cautious.”

“Me too.” She blushed. With money like his, it was no wonder momma was cautious. He was charming. She’d hoped for this but hadn’t expected it. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this. Maybe it was all worth it.

Austin led her over a bridge spanning the Mass Pike’s death trap of honking and road rage. He walked confidently, parting the sea of pedestrians, and even cars. One hand raised at a barreling Jeep halted the driver in his tracks. She watched him from behind his aviators. Austin’s boldness and privilege afforded him this much, she supposed. His dad appeared on the cover of last month’s GQ Magazine with sinewy arms and cool-blue gaze. They passed the monolithic Green Monster walls flanking Fenway ballpark. Hotdogs and Bud Lights blanketed the sidewalk. A bat cracked and howls followed. Mia needed a drink. It’d been a long week.

“So, I gotta ask,” she caught up. “You’re that Austin Moore?”

“Yeah,” he massaged his neck, annoyed by the question. “I guess so. You’re that Mia Royce?”

“What do you know about me? Everyone knows Austin Moore, Boston’s tech heir.”

“Layin’ it on thick, eh?” He tilted his aviators and chuckled. “If I’m an open book, then what’s your story, Mia Royce?”

“My story…” Her toe snagged a cobblestone, and she almost cracked a tooth. He caught her again. “Thanks.”

“First day on new legs? Gotta work on that footwork.”

“Are we ballroom dancing any time soon?”

“Hey, bowling’s got a rhythm to it.”

“Don’t worry your little soul.” Northshore townie speech infected her tone. She sobered. “I took a bowling class in college.”

“A class?” Austin nearly bit the curb this time. “Where’d you go to school?”

“Salem State. How about you?”

“Zuma U out in western Mass.”

“Of course!” she slapped her knee, breaking a nail. She suppressed the agony. “Everyone knows Zuma U. Biggest school in New England.”

“Damn straight! Fightin’ Redmen!”

“Aren’t you the Militia Men now?”

“Yeah,” he moped. “Sadly.”

She frowned. Was it sad? “Why not BU or BC? You had the money.”

“Eh.” He dismissed the notion. “Bunch of rubes. Hey, here’s Kings.”

A crown emblazoned a brick building five stories tall. It perched above Honky Tonks, bawdy taverns, and ping pong bars. Piss and vomit pooled in the gutter downhill from Lansdowne Street. Fenway was a dull roar, projecting its chaos elsewhere. He held the door open but passed her on the stairs. Reaching the top, they found a jaded, made-up hostess. She avoided eye contact while scrolling her phone, then the reservations list, then motioned for them to proceed. Billiards clacked, skee-balls bounced, and bowlers wiggled heinies before laying fat gutter balls. “The Man in Me” by Bob Dylan flooded in on speakers.

“Just like The Big Lebowski!” said Austin. “Hey, it’s the Dude!” He indicated a black and white photograph of Jeff Bridges with a milk mustache.

“What?” she asked.

“You haven’t seen it? Goddamn! It’s my favorite movie. Required viewing.”

“How about bowling first?”

Austin ordered size thirteen shoes from a greasy-haired ball boy who stunk of spray shoe deodorizer. Mia noticed Austin’s Jordans were size eleven. She changed out her Converse while he donned his clown shoes meant to impress her. They found lane three and took goofy selfies for the scorekeeper screen. It posted their tongues-out and middle finger pictures when they bowled strikes and spares. In short order, Mia destroyed him. After, he grunted and sweated.

“The fuck?” He shook his head. “Damn bowling class.”

“Bet Zuma U had one. They have everything. What’d you take instead?”

“I majored in English, but now I’m VP of sales for my dad.”

“No doubt, nepo baby.” Mia covered her mouth. After a lifetime of poverty, she couldn’t resist. One blue eye flickered before he bent double and guffawed like a rodeo clown.

“Damn, girl. You funny as hell. I want a second date.”

“Already? How about some margaritas?”

“The Force is strong with this one.” He tapped his forehead.

“You’re a nerd, aren’t you?”

“Yep. I’ve been writing my own comics and video games since I was a kid. I even play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Stop.” She held out one hand. “Don’t tell me you’re a Dungeon Master.”

He smiled. “In the streets and the sheets.”

It was her turn to laugh.

[almorrall]

Crimson

Chapter One

As the forested valleys of western Massachusetts pooled before Iggy, he was overcome with nostalgia. His rust-gold sedan, a relic of the year 2000, rattled along, steam spurting from beneath its hood. A smile crossed his face as he glimpsed a sign for the sleepy farm town of Arden. Summers were peaceful and lethargic here in the Happy Valley, but twenty-thousand undergrads were on their way to change that. Bars and pizza shops would thrum with energy, as students returned, and the town resurrected. Epic keggers, elated singalongs and endless jams would soon rock the sweeping Zuma University campus.

Iggy looked to his brother Conan who snored along to the Chevy Cavalier’s rumble, a car affectionately dubbed “Lebron.” Axles creaked as Lebron descended country roads into the welcoming valley. They’d driven out from their home in the depressed mill town of Lawrence back east. Pine-fresh air brought him back, rolling through groves of sheltering leaves. Each time he returned to Arden, he prepared himself for the chaos of campus life. Memories surfaced in light and warmth, only reminding him that soon the good times would end. This was senior year, and he wanted to savor every minute.

It was 2010, after all, and no college student expected to find a job. The Great Recession still raged, Usher and Kesha dominated radio play, and flip phones were still rampant. That summer, Iggy lived out of a tour van, selling t-shirts, and fetching coffee for punk rock bands like Anti-Flag, Sum 41, and Reel Big Fish on Warped Tour. It was a raucous cross-country journey that opened his eyes to what the old U.S. of A. could offer. Already, he envisioned driving Lebron west to Colorado, Wyoming, and San Francisco Bay. Still, there was unfinished business here in old New England.

Taking the scenic route, Iggy rolled past golden fields of wheat, verdant cabbage, pungent cow pastures, and rusted-out tractors. Normally he drove straight to campus, but this year was different. He used his encyclopedic knowledge of Arden’s roads acquired from years delivering pizza to take in the sights, as if for the last time. From Route Nine, he ascended the Hadley Hills, Victorian mansions hiding behind every turn. Turning down the intriguingly named Laurana Lane, his Chevy Cavalier slowed to a crawl. He remembered getting a nice tip from delivering pizza on this street, but that didn’t excuse his dread. To his left was a house, immaculate in its stonework, towering like a medieval bulwark, ivy climbing up its walls.

Staring into windows that gaped like omniscient voids, a chill gripped Iggy’s chest. Early autumn wind cut through, dislodging a tile from the slate roof above to shatter in a million needle-like shards on its walkway. It was then he noticed dark, glaring eyes peering out from one of its bay windows. A short, bedraggled man burst out from the front door in a cloak that covered his head. He raised a white fist at Iggy, eyes glinting like obsidian from beneath the hood. Feeling transported back in time, he felt he’d stumbled upon something primordial and sinister. What unholy rites were practiced by this foul host in his ancient-looking fortress.

Hoarse rasps escaped from the man’s throat as Iggy’s foot broke its icy freeze to touch the accelerator. A whisper escaped the yard’s willows, telling Iggy to fly from this place with haste. The man was growing close, dull bellows reaching Iggy’s ears. He was caught by some far-off dream or memory: green, dripping bodies left to hang in a moldy basement. Iggy jammed on the gas, but Lebron refused to budge. A new fear took hold as his car stalled. It wouldn’t be a true victory lap without his trusty ride. Soon, the cloaked man would be upon him, and Iggy wondered what weapon he might carry concealed.

At the last possible moment, and as if in response to his concerns, Lebron lurched up the hill with titanic effort, leaving Laurana Lane behind. Still, that darkened spot in Arden’s Happy Valley would fester like rot in Iggy’s mind. What had he heard about the Hadley Hills? It was home to wealthy professors and administrators from the valley’s five colleges, apart from the bustle of Arden’s student population. Perhaps that’s why the neighborhood of stuffy, slate-roofed Victorians had seemed so alien to him.

Lebron sputtered into downtown Arden, a quaint Massachusetts town radiating from genteel Arden College at its center. Passing the esteemed college, where Iggy never dreamt of applying, he glimpsed the Lord Jeffrey Arden Inn. It was named for the town’s founder, a man famous for gifting blankets contaminated with smallpox to the local Native American tribes. This small ploy resulted in decimating the region’s indigenous population, kickstarting the national genocide, and paving the way for westward expansion. His descendants probably still lived on Laurana Lane.

Stopping at a light, Iggy craned his neck past Arden common to where the Lord Jeffrey Inn spied from behind tangled oaks. Its lawns were freshly mown, flowers wondrously kept, valets standing curbside at the ready. The inn sprawled like a great white plantation amidst the bookstores, cafes, burrito shops and bubble tea joints of old Arden center. Few remembered the Lord Jeffrey’s dark history, but Iggy took it upon himself to uncover such secrets, inspired by sophomore American History. That class taught him injustice lurked behind every great triumph and Arden College was no exception.

He remembered Arina Gershon, the girl he’d had a crush on freshman year. She attended a party at the Lord Jeffrey, invited by some arrogant Arden College frat boy. Past the inn’s yawning front door was a grand ballroom where Iggy imagined gentlemen and ladies danced to classical music and toasted champagne. He’d been texting Arina at the time, and something changed in her after that night at the Lord Jeffrey. She never responded, stopped going to class, soon dropped out, and later was found overdosed on drugs, somewhere in Springfield.

It was a fate Iggy had seen many times back home in Lawrence, but hearing his crush suffer the same fate was soul-shattering. What happened to Arina? He still dreamed of her, three years later, but likely he’d never know. He hadn’t had the courage to talk to her parents and wasn’t invited to the funeral. In fact, he barely knew her, and her friends refused to answer any questions he asked. He’d talked with her in College Writing, loved her radiant smile, the way she flipped her hair, but now, she was gone.

Beyond its strip of bars and restaurants, bohemian Zuma University sprawled into the woods in all directions. The brick storefronts took Iggy in like an old friend, as honest New England folk went about their lives. Arina receded from memory, and he preferred it that way. As a freshman, Arden had been an adjustment from the bustling projects of Lawrence. In three years, he’d grown to love its shady groves and open spaces. His friends gave him a new family here, and a place worth escaping to.

Conan still slept in the passenger seat, as Zuma University’s crimson sign flashed by. No denying it now. This was the last hurrah. Iggy approached four towers looming thirty floors into the sky. Somehow, he found a parking spot as ten thousand students scrambled to pack their lives into Southwest dormitories. It was one-square mile of non-stop parties, a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. In Southwest, bad decisions were a daily routine, and its beer-soaked, weed-clouded dorms stood in contrast to the cow pastures in sight across the highway.

Maybe Southwest reminded Conan of Lawrence, the fast city life he’d always known. Iggy was glad his brother came to the country for college, away from the crime and temptation of the real concrete jungle. Here, the worst you could get was a slap on the wrist and a stint in the drunk tank. Back home, the police had itchy trigger fingers. Drugs and violence were rampant in Lawrence, but bullets weren’t the answer. When Conan joked about joining the Bloods, Iggy knew it was time he left town. Iggy parked in a loading dock, flicking his brother in the ear.

Conan groaned as Iggy got out of Lebron to unpack his things. The brothers had similar features: blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, both a little under six feet, but Conan had about thirty pounds of muscle on Iggy. He’d spent the summers working landscaping jobs, cooking, and cleaning for restaurants, and in high school he was a star at track and field. Iggy never played organized sports, just watched them on TV like every good Massachusetts boy: the Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, and Bruins. Conan watched his brother struggle with his belongings.

“I’ll take your hamper,” Iggy grunted. “The trunk is too heavy.”

Conan cracked his neck and hoisted his leather-bound trunk with a wink. It was a hundred pounds easy. Iggy blinked in disbelief as his brother laughed, “Ain’t no thing.”

“For you, maybe. I see dad’s workin’ you hard in that gym.”

“His basement setup ain’t bad. Found every plate in the junkyard.”

Iggy still hated his childhood home where his father still lived, separated from his wife and family. At O’Reilly Finders you could “trade anything for anything.” It hardly sounded like the tagline for a legitimate business and Iggy was on good authority that it was not. Conan had been fascinated by the hustle and underground clientele it catered to. Iggy did his best to guide his brother away from that life. Conan had returned for sophomore year, so it looked like his efforts proved true. This was the last year Iggy could watch out for him though.

“You gonna pick a major soon?”

“Na, man, gonna slide by undeclared as long as possible.”

“C’mon, dude. Get real. Gotta be something you like.” Conan shrugged, gazing up at the tower dorms he’d soon return to. “All right, let’s get you moved in. I gotta make tracks.”

“Date with Rufus tonight?” Conan snickered. “Hey, can you get me three cases of PBR at the liquor store?”

Rufus had been Iggy’s best friend since they’d met in Sylvan quad two years back. They still lived in the dorm for loners, weirdos, and misfits. “How else can I be of service? That’s three full backpacks. I gotta lug those up to floor twenty-three.”

“There’s an elevator. Get Rufus to help.”

“Throwin’ down in your room, eh? You haven’t even met your roommate.”

“Only reason to pick Southwest for a second year. I’m back for more, Zuma’s ambassador.”

“Okay, Jay-Z.”

“I’ve got a dedicated following here. Can’t let ‘em down.”

“You better not invite any of those drug-dealing pill heads from Lawrence.”

“Okay, mom.” Conan’s eyes gleamed with mirth as a vein stuck out in Iggy’s forehead. “Don’t worry, none of them got into Zuma. I’m the only one.”

“Yeah, but you’re not like them.”

With Conan moved in, Iggy pulled out of Southwest. A car took his spot one second later. At campus center, he passed a white stack of Legos they called the Fine Arts building. On the right rose Orchard Hill, and further down laid maple-strewn Northeast quad. Flashbacks of hard-fought frisbee games surfaced in his mind, played in the shadow of Northeast Dining Common. Finally, Lebron ascended the hill to Sylvan dormitory, where a new generation of students dreamed beneath maple shade. Finally, he was home.

Parking out back, Iggy hauled his suitcase up the hill. Mom still made him use one without rollers. A brown brick dorm rose ten stories, drums and guitar thumping out its windows. At a picnic table, he spotted his long-lost pal: a broad-shouldered junior with a voluminous red afro hunched over a book. This was where he first met Rufus two years before, smoking hookah in Sylvan quad. From then on, they ate every meal together, regaling each other of college life. This time there was no tobacco-smoking device in front of Rufus, just a textbook with a knight on the cover.

“Still dreamin’ of Arthurian Legends?”

“Bro!” Rufus cried, jumping from his seat to wrestle Iggy in a bear hug. “From King Alfred to Larry Bird, you’re goddamn right I’m livin’ in the past! Been waitin’ all afternoon for you. Senior year, dude. Can’t believe it.”

“Well, not for you. But I know you’ll be at every party.”

“You bet. Comin’ out of my cage this year. Locked myself up for half of college already, reading and playing Guitar Hero. Leverett’s parties are gonna be lit.”

Leverett was one town over from Arden, a place where their friends carved a little slice of heaven to party, away from the cops and crowds. “YOLO.”

“Huh?” Rufus scratched his afro.

“You only live once, fam.” Iggy grinned, taking a seat. A summer breeze rippled through swaying oak boughs. Laughter and shuffling feet filled his ears as cars pulled up to unload their contents. A family walked past, arms laden with dorm supplies, kids bright-eyed, parents asking questions. It was another year, much like the ones before, and Rufus was by his side. They told the summers’ tales, got updates on the whole gang. This was their last rodeo before facing the real world. Iggy had a plan for that too, but he kept that to himself.

“Who’s your new roommate?” Rufus asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Iggy looked up, frowning. “He’s some grad student from India apparently. I was supposed to have a single room. We were gonna rock it out every night. Kinda lame.”

“It’s all good. We still got Leverett. Maybe your roommate’s cool.”

“Any grad student living in the dorms can’t be that cool.”

“Hey, you finish my copy of A Feast for Crows?”

“Nah, still grindin’.”

“Well, let’s meet your roommate. I’ll carry stuff in from Lebron if you want.”

“Thanks, dude.” Iggy tossed Rufus the keys, as his friend strolled down to the back lot. He returned with a full bed set and pillows under one arm and a plastic stack of drawers under the other. His thick arms held the belongings with ease, and Iggy shrugged in amazement at how strong he’d gotten working on organic produce farms over the summer. When Rufus reached Zuma, he transformed himself, dropping forty pounds freshman year. It was impressive, and his biceps and traps rippled through his undersized t-shirt.

Finally entering Sylvan dormitory, a weasel-faced Resident Assistant demanded to check their ID’s before they could proceed. Adjusting his maroon “Zuma U staff” hat, he scrutinized the fat-cheeked photo of Rufus, still bearing a lopsided grin. The RA compared it to the muscular junior with a jaw line before him. Iggy’s ID was easy to verify, as he was still the same blue-eyed, baby-faced assassin as freshman year. Finally, the RA granted them elevator access with a languid toss of his hand. Smashing the button for “floor eight,” they ascended.

“Still texting your ex?” Iggy asked.

“Yeah, and we met for dinner,” Rufus admitted, studying the corrugated metal floor.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know, man. They don’t write books on love.”

“Actually, they do. It’s a whole industry.”

“What should I do?” Rufus sniffed, studying the elevator buttons.

“Well, I’m no expert either. Still no college girlfriend, but it’s senior year so who needs one?”

“Yeah, I’d like one though.”

“You’ll find her, man. You need a girl who can nerd out on your level: D&D, cosplay, all that junk.”

“Oh, man. Where can I find her?” Rufus laughed with his whole body, afro jiggling.

“And I’ve read your writing. It’s lit. Plus, you’re not a bad-looking dude either. You’re a catch.”

The elevator opened on floor seven where Rufus lived, making the two boys cock their heads in confusion. A green-eyed blonde in leggings stepped onto the elevator, prompting Rufus to toss Iggy’s drawers six different directions in fright. “Oh, sorry,” she laughed as he bent to frantically stuff Iggy’s clothes back inside. “I thought you were going down. I’ll take the stairs.”

On floor eight, they hung right to reach Iggy’s suite, an enclosed dorm area shared with a handful of other students. This was Iggy’s second year with these guys in his suite. Most were members of a mysterious jam band. It was quiet now, but acoustic guitars, theremins and djembe drums littered the common room. Finally, Iggy opened the door to his room, finding his new roommate bent over a sea of cardboard boxes. Long, unkempt hair and square-shaped glasses wheeled to meet him. Nearly tripping through a maze of computer towers and parts, his roommate extended a hand to shake.

“Y-you must be Iggy,” his voice was warm but shaky. “I’m Dopinder Shah.”

“Nice to meet ya, Dopinder,” Iggy shook the sweaty hand, his smile slipping as it came away moist. Rufus crashed into Iggy’s back, throwing bedding and plastic drawers to scatter across the room. A drawer knocked one computer tower over as socks and underwear filled open boxes of computer parts. Angry, dark eyes jabbed at Rufus as Iggy raked hands through his hair, viewing the disorder of his room. “Sorry about that. This is my buddy, Rufus.”

“Yeah, sorry, man,” said Rufus, offering his hand to shake. Dopinder merely fumed, bending to erect the computer tower and extricate blankets from computer chips. A sulking heat pulsed from Dopinder as he checked and rechecked his equipment, refusing to meet Rufus’s gaze. Iggy set down his bag of Boston sports paraphernalia and punk rock posters, furrowing his brow at the new roommate, feeling things were off to a rocky start. He wondered how Dopinder lugged all this stuff up here, and if it was safe to plug it all in at once.

“Maybe we should leave so Dopinder can set up,” Iggy said, once he’d deposited his things in a corner. The room was divided like a de-militarized zone and currently Dopinder’s stuff occupied more than three quarters.

“Dude, I almost forgot!” Rufus’s hazel eyes shone bright. “You gotta join this class I’m taking. It’s taught by one of my favorite authors.”

“Really? George R.R. Martin?”

“No.”

“Stephen King?”

“I wish. He’s Zuma’s top English professor. You’re gonna love it.”

“You’re not talking about Fantasy into Reality, are you?” Dopinder asked. Iggy and Rufus spun to face the roommate’s dark, narrowing eyes. His regard was layered with sudden heat and suspicion.

“Oh, yeah. How’d you know?” Rufus wondered.

“I’m Professor Montblanc’s assistant.”

“Really? Are you getting a Master’s in creative writing then?”

“No, I’m getting my PhD in computer science.”

“Really, with an English professor as your advisor?”

“Yes. I thought it odd as well. But Professor Montblanc has acquired grants for me to develop the virtual reality simulation I’ve been working on for over a decade. It’s called Crimson.”

“Sounds awesome. What’s it do?”

“You’ll hear all about it in class tomorrow.” Dopinder shifted his glasses with a grin.

Iggy didn’t like that look, whatever it might imply. Rufus didn’t seem to notice. Dopinder was clearly proud they’d be using the platform he designed, and it explained why he had so many computer parts. But why was he assigned an English professor as his advisor? If Professor Montblanc was really Rufus’s favorite, Iggy wondered why he’d never heard of him before. What had he written and what made him Zuma’s top English professor?

“You can’t tell us anything?” Rufus asked. “C’mon, if it’s really your life’s ambition, I bet you want to.”

“Perhaps,” Dopinder stroked black stubble and acne on his face. “But Professor Montblanc made me swear on my life I wouldn’t tell. He’d probably kill me.”

“That’s a little intense,” Iggy said, unsure if Dopinder was exaggerating. His roommate seemed deathly serious. Iggy turned to Rufus. “How come I’m just hearing about Montblanc now?”

“Discovered him this summer. Read all his books.”

“Damn. Write about him in your diary too?”

“He’s inspiring. I’ve watched his speeches on YouTube. So charismatic, a natural leader. It’s not just fantasy he dissects, its psychology, the root of all storytelling and the human condition.”

“I have a question,” Iggy returned to Dopinder, fiddling with a laptop’s microscopic screws. “How come I just got an email from housing last week that you’d be my roommate? Thought I’d have a single.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dopinder sighed with what sounded like genuine shame. “Montblanc got the grant approved last minute. He’s dreamed of integrating VR into this class for years now. Must’ve pulled some strings to get all the funding.”

“Yeah, no offense, I’m sure you’re a cool dude. Just a shock, that’s all. Would’ve roomed with Rufus if I knew it’d be like this.”

“Well, I’m sorry to break up the bromance,” Dopinder laughed, spinning away in his swivel chair. Iggy scanned the room again, noting a carton of cigarettes and two cases of Coke on the windowsill. Apart from being a vegetarian, Iggy rarely drank soda and never smoked cigarettes. He preferred hiking, being in nature, and long drives. Ever since he was a kid, sharing a bedroom with Conan in Lawrence, he’d wanted his own space. Dopinder struck him as a homebody, and he better not smoke cigarettes in the room. Iggy felt his neck stiffen with anxiety.

“I just want senior year to be chill,” Iggy muttered. “But on my drive in, I got the weirdest vibe. This house at the end of Laurana Lane freaked me out. It was like an evil wizard’s castle.”

“Rad,” Rufus’s eyes lit up.

“And I passed the Lord Jeffrey Arden Inn too. I know it’s named for a genocidal colonizer, but I never noticed how much its presence dominates downtown.” Dopinder laughed from his corner of the room, drawing their gaze. “I was just at a party Professor Montblanc threw at the Lord Jeffrey. He had early investors for Crimson VR there. Had big plans for it, even talked about lining a job up for me. Oh, and by the way, I was out on Laurana Lane the other day. Professor had me over for tea to discuss Crimson. Your description matches his house exactly.”

[almorrall]

Closer to Home

Chapter One

The mining ship decelerated its turbodrive thrusters, white-hot trails cooling to orange cinders. A cylindrical ship, three hundred meters long, rocked side to side, its nose dipping as stabilizers corrected course. They came off the turbodrive too fast, as officers reeled about the bridge in recoil. Coffee cups spilled and boots were scuffed as they collided into one another. Captain Paru frowned from her seat, safely buckled in. Even though she gave the command for them to do the same, her newer officers hadn’t listened. This wasn’t the first time and though there’d been no major accidents on this voyage, she was not blind to the omen.

Her ire turned next to the helmsman who gripped the controls, pulling them out of the dive and correcting course with frontal stabilizers. If they couldn’t slow in time, they’d careen into the razor-wire space that was the debris belt. This was their destination, a place of great risk and great reward, but arriving this fast was the worst possible outcome. Asteroids ranged from half a meter to ten kilometers wide filled the belt. The larger ones were tracked and thankfully distant, but even small ones could tear holes in their ship. Paru had seen former captains court-martialed for putting their crews at risk. She had a clean sheet after seven years in command and she was determined not to become a statistic.

Crew captains voiced their displeasure with Tony’s flying over the comms, ripping through the bridge. The helmsman merely flicked his nose as he steadied their course. Other officers found their chairs and buckled in. Some wiped hot coffee and donut frosting from their blue flight uniforms. Paru’s look said it all. They’d shown her how little they heeded her orders, and whatever excitement they’d felt at reaching their long-sought destination faded away. Once the ship leveled off, Paru unclicked her restraints, staggering to Tony’s chair. She clamped a hand on his shoulder and hissed in his ear, “Get it together, Andruzzi.”

“Approaching the cluster,” Tony said sweetly, failing to meet his captain’s fiery gaze.

“I give you a long leash,” she whispered. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Tony gave a thumbs-up. “I’m a loyal pup, and heel when I must.”

Paru marched back to her captain’s chair, taking a seat, and surveying the quartz glass viewport before them. Officers gave their reports, signaling no major damage to the ship. A few scanners and sensor dishes needed to be recalibrated but there was no serious damage. Their speedy arrival wasn’t as disastrous as Paru initially thought. Her agitation eased with a sigh, but she refused to return Tony’s gold-toothed grin. His recklessness wasn’t contained to his flying. It extended to his physical appearance too, half-shaved head, scalp tattoos, expensive bionic bicep enhancements. Paru maintained her figure the old-fashioned way, a vegan soy paste diet and body-weight exercises. There were days in deep space when she’d kill for a steak.

Paru and Tony both loved what their jobs, plotting these expeditions to harvest rare metals from the debris belt. He chose to flaunt the spoils in his smile, whereas she was content with a gold-edged captain’s badge sewn to her suit. Some miners couldn’t last more than one or two voyages, but Paru and Tony kept coming back, embracing the lonely void of space. Neither had much on earth to go back to, no families, few friends outside the officer core and a select few crewmates. In the deep, dark emptiness of their months-long voyages they sometimes had each other.

Paru raised her eyes to the main viewport, as their destination came into focus. A wall of brown smudges materialized from the veil of blackness, dotted with a million dots of light.

“We’re still a safe distance away,” said Chief Science Officer Kim on Paru’s right. “Not close enough for scanning metals, but we’re closing. A hundred kilometers. Ninety-five.”

“Thank you, Kim,” Paru nodded to her new CSO, resting a hand on her headrest. “Keep it slow, Tony.” He kept grinning but did as she asked. At least at first.

This was her seventh trip as captain of the Hephaestus to the system’s debris belt. Apart from their abrupt drop out of turbodrive approaching the belt, this trip had gone as every other before it. Tony had been with her on five of the trips, and five more before that, spending a decade in transit to the belt. She could hardly blame him for wanting to mix it up and make some time. It was a wonder the crew didn’t kill each other. She hardly took more than a month of leave time after a year in transit. Sometimes she asked herself how she put up with the journeys. It wasn’t easy, and she knew she was throwing away the best years of her life. Her mother always told her she’d never find a husband this way. That woman really wanted grandkids.

Despite the long hours, boredom, and endless calculations to prevent their imminent demise onboard an outdated cargo vessel, Paru was proud of her station. Prouder still when nobody was murdered on a voyage. That was often too much to ask. This last voyage had been the usual six months of waiting, twenty-six poker nights, and only two games where Paru didn’t rake in the pot. Her officers were getting better, but they must be getting sick of losing by now. Weekly game nights were her way of keeping them sane on such long voyages. Two-thirds of the officers and half the crew had never flown together. Most of Paru’s talent was poached by navy recruiters. They were prepping for something, Founders knew what.

Previous generations never worried about the war with Earth. They were old stories told to scare children. Now anomalies that some called probes appeared on scans every month or so. Each time the news rocked Tyras, lighting up every vid screen, fueling the fire of movements who said Tyras colony was doomed and they’d need a new home soon. This was sensationalism, generally advanced by the younger generations who dominated Paru’s crew. With so much fresh blood, Paru needed the veterans onboard to have her back, but they didn’t always. Some told stories of past captains, smarter or stricter than Paru. She didn’t mind unless the talk bordered on dissent.

As she sat and waited for the debris to appear, she saw Tony whisper something to a young female officer. She heard something like “tightwad capitana” and her gaze snapped back to him.

“Stick to flying, Andruzzi,” she uttered in a low voice. “I don’t need jive from my vets. You’ve gotta keep these freshies in line.”

“Aye aye, capitana,” he saluted again with another smirk.

“How long’s it been since you disinfected latrines, Tony? Maybe once we’re stationary and we start scanning, I’ll send you to crew deck for some much-needed cleaning. A hundred laborers make a real mess.”

“Give my regards to engineering,” said Kim, the ship’s Chief Science Officer. “They can fix a nuclear reactor blindfolded but never remember to flush.” She cracked a grin at Paru, enjoying a chance to rib the insubordinate Tony. Past voyages she’d worked in the engine room, but now she managed the whole science division, and she’d performed wonderfully so far. Kim appreciated joining officer corps, but Tony had been helmsman three years, so he really did remember other captains. Some of them may have been more charismatic, wiser, or more experienced than Paru, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to tolerate an ounce of insubordination. She’d seen captains jettisoned out the airlock when their authority ran low.

Paru still remembered the time Tony let a one-meter asteroid clack against the viewport. There was still a hairline crack in it they couldn’t afford to repair. Tony split space rocks by hand in the cargo hold with crew for two months. Some of her crew didn’t mind the labor and exercise of working in the hold. Though she loved them almost as much as her ship, it was these crewmembers that gave her cause for concern. Tony’s arms, bionic biceps, and all, were still strong as the iron they mined on these missions. He flashed them at the younger officer again as Paru watched. Her eyes went back to the viewport as the debris belt took shape.

Paru’s mother taught her to listen, give people a fair chance. But when they knew the rules and broke them anyways, they paid. Paru took this as her creed, giving the benefit of the doubt, but when stung, delivering justice. She’d done well so far, and the crew respected her for it. This was her seventh trip to the debris belt, each one promising more riches than the last, and delivering. Perhaps that’s what kept them loyal, she only wished they joined for the right reasons. Deep down she wanted to explore the system, knowing their route was largely the same, she saw more of the belt each time. One trip yielded a tremendous methane haul, one that powered ships, generators, and hovercars for decades. The Founders confiscated most of it, leaving Paru and her crew with a pittance.

What mining ship Hephaestus lacked in speed; he made up for in cargo space. Both gaseous and solid cargo could be attached in air tanks or stored in the hold, at a capacity unrivaled in the fleet. Though Heph was once a military vessel, no one onboard was active military. Its original owner bought the ship at a discount when it was decommissioned by the navy. That was several captains ago. Paru had seen them come and go, most against their will. She knew there might be a target on her back, because officers took a bigger share and captains most of all. Never had she felt truly threatened, however.

She’d risen farther than her mother ever hoped. Most crew missed their families back on Tyras, those who had them. Paru didn’t, beyond her mother. Crew saw family for a month every year or so, between runs. It was too short, and Paru always felt regret when she hugged her mother goodbye. Most of Tyras lived in slums, and New Bombay was worse than most. It was a place of crowded bodies, colors, sounds, smells, and tastes beyond imagination. Good or ill, she loved it, but preferred being out here. The silence of space, seeing the stars roll by, on the move, striving for something better. There was always a bigger haul, and more of the system to see.

Hephaestus was her one true love, as he left no time in her life for human romance. His off-gray, rust-orange hull took all her patience to manage and maintain on mining expeditions. It was roughly a hundred million kilometers from Tyras to the debris belt and took Heph six months each way. He was far from the fastest ship on Tyras, probably one of the slowest mining vessels in fact. But he could haul. Heph chugged along on outdated thrusters, having been rebuilt more than once by Kim and her old team of engineers. Still the engines were military grade and once outran an Earth warship in the days of the Founding.

The cold void of space enveloped Heph’s rusted oblong hull, as outdated sensors and control panels whirred and clicked inside. Her officers pored over displays on cracked and smudged touchscreens. They displayed forward scans, everything picked up from attempts to comb for radio interference, thermal anomalies and fast-moving objects that might rupture their hull. “Fast” was all relative of course, as even their obsolete mining ship moved at twenty-three thousand kilometers an hour. Tyran warships were known to get up to fifty-thousand kilometers on turbodrive. Paru found peace in her job but always wondered what it would be like to captain a warship. Having dropped out halfway through naval academy, she’d never find out.

The captain observed their progress from her chair behind Heph’s dome-shaped quartz glass viewport. Like ominous puffs of popcorn, the debris belt welcomed them in all its potentially hull-sheering glory. Officers roamed the bridge, sipping cups of coffee. After six months of waiting, they bristled at what this run would yield. Veteran officers chided newer ones for not securing restraints before coming out of turbodrive. Paru doubted these new officers, knowing some of her best crew resigned when they saw the mission roster. After six and a half years, many of her best officers left, making her second guess herself. The navy always needed new soldiers, particularly ones who’d seen the belt ten times and lived to talk about it. Still, her mother made her swear never to rejoin the military.

Tony’s eyes were fully off the young officer he’d been flirting with as he navigated Heph through a cluster of debris. It grew thicker by the moment, becoming a storm of rock and metal that might tear them to pieces. Some of the greener officers gasped as he took a half-spin, dodging a pear-shaped asteroid. Tony grinned like a schoolboy, putting a few turns in just to hear them squeal. Paru tapped a pen on her microphone, causing him to flinch and cease his theatrics. Heph kept an even course after that, rotating just enough to avoid losing pieces. Apart from a couple fender-benders, Tony had a remarkably clean flying sheet.

Kim sat to Paru’s right, flicking through a dozen screens of data, flashing ten results per second. Officers leaned in to see what she recorded but she brushed them away, furrowing her brow.

“Anything good?” Paru asked, looking over her shoulder. After a moment’s silence, Kim responded.

“Lots,” said Kim, showing a rare smile. She swallowed and exhaled deeply. “All the usual debris field findings. Good number of C-Type asteroids, as always. Lots of carbon and phosphorus. A few S-type asteroids.”

“The shiny ones?” asked Quartermaster Steiner, wringing his fingers. He was a former executive from a mining conglomerate. Paru barely promoted him to officer, but his credentials were sterling, and she needed a full roster. Earth probe sightings meant she needed good leadership. He’d been selected for his ability to do a full ship inspection in less than sixty minutes, something Paru clocked personally, dogging his every step. Her crew loved to see her grill a big wig inspector, but when Steiner fired his questions, they answered with obedience. She felt he had only begun to show his true colors.

“Yes,” Kim sighed with a great slump of her small shoulders. She mouthed to Paru, “Where did you find these guys?” prompting a furrowed brow before continuing. “The ‘shiny’ S-Types: mostly nickel, cobalt, gold, platinum, rhodium. One has fifty kilograms each of platinum and gold.” Steiner licked his lips and other officers whooped in response. Paru shook her head, seeing the way her officers react was to be expected after six months cooped up on an old mining craft. They’d wagered their safety, their time, and their futures. Steiner even rejected military and government recruitment to be onboard. This vindicated their sacrifice and the risk they all took coming out here.

“There’s even an M-type asteroid,” Kim squinted at the screen. She sat back as Steiner sucked in his breath. “Containing iridium and Plutonium.”

“We’re going nuclear, baby!” Steiner punched a fist into the air. “That’s just what I needed. Thanks, Kim.”

“Quartermaster Steiner,” Paru barked. “There will be no celebrating until we’re home. We aren’t gambling out here. We’ve got a hundred lives on board, working their tails off to our way safely. I’ve put my reputation on the line for a sixth voyage. Hasn’t been a single casualty on my watch yet.”

“So, we’re in good hands then?” Steiner’s voice brightened.

“Yes, but I’ll not have you fist-pumping prematurely. We’re still…”

Dark shapes shadowed the viewport’s edges.

“Objects encroaching,” Tony chimed. “They’re not moving like asteroids. They’re deliberate.”

“Get me a reading, Kim,” Paru snapped back to reality, gripping her armrest as she studied the dark spots, flickering with metallic glints. One might mistake the shapes as asteroids, but Tony was right. They moved in a serpentine pattern, and flitted on their periphery, just outside the flood lamps Hephaestus used to illuminate forward view.

“It’s true, they do seem to be moving under their own power. And staying just outside our scans.” Kim chewed her lip. “There’s something else too. They’re giving off a radio frequency. Or should I say, they’re surrounded with bubbles of anti-frequency.”

“Anti-frequency?”

“They’ve got radio jammers.”

“Shit,” Paru slammed a palm on her armrest. “So, they could be hostile?”

“They match what I’ve seen for EP’s.”

Earth probes. This would be the first confirmed sighting of Earth probes in Tyras system. That’s why their people migrated to Tyras, far away from Earth’s reach. Each year the colonists received updates on the probes, thinking they could be tracked. The navy even fired rare metals as bait into far-off systems for the probes to inspect. It was thought this would keep them satisfied and steer them away from Tyras. Paru feared it only gave them a taste and coordinates to calculate the trajectory of the bait being sent. Knowing the war with Earth never ended, contact with probes put all five hundred million colonists on Tyras at risk. As Paru stared down the probes, a compulsion she’d never felt flickered within her. Deep down inside she was an animal backed against a wall. A tiger trapped in a cage with its home threatened and no options but to bare its claws. Even faced with unspeakable danger and serving as the human race’s first contact with other intelligent life in over a century, she didn’t want to run. In that primal moment, she wanted to fight.

[almorrall]

The Emerald Seer

Chapter One

Kaelyn woke to an empty bed, cool with morning dew. She rolled over, spraying a puff of sawdust from her mattress. Birdsong filtered through the walls, and she smiled before a drop of water landed on her cheek. The roof was leaking again. Sitting up, she looked around the one-room house. Amaris was nowhere to be found. Her sister couldn’t sleep like Kaelyn could, even wet and cold. An arrow thudded into a strawman outside. Rising with a start, she remembered this was her first Harvest Feast since turning sixteen. It was the last day of summer and knights were coming to pass judgment.

When her feet touched the dirt floor, she shivered. Something furry passed over her ankles. Straining her eyes, she saw Whiskerwinks dart back into the pantry. She promised Amaris they were rid of him this time. Her sister still blamed her for letting him in months ago. This time Kaelyn rode five miles west, borrowing a horse from the town stable. Leaving him in the forest, she said goodbye to Whiskerwinks. Yet here he was. Kaelyn gave the pantry door a kick. When he refused to come out, she sighed and left the house.

Amaris brought an arrow to her ear. Both girls had green eyes, but little more in common. Kaelyn’s hair was silver and tangled while her sister’s was red and braided. Ami’s hair never got in the way when she swung an axe or shot a bow. Kaelyn’s was often caked in mud. Releasing the string, Ami’s arrow pierced the strawman’s heart. She knocked another arrow to the longbow which was as tall as she was. Taking aim, lines in her muscles showed. Ami proved the men of Remy wrong when she mastered the longbow. Everyone doubted her, to their error. Her second arrow slid into straw beside the first.

“Did I hear that mouse in there again?” Amaris gave her a wry look.

“Yes. I thought we’d be rid of him this time. Sorry, Ami. Today’s Harvest Feast. Let’s not fight. I’d rather just watch you shoot,” Kaelyn approached her sister.

“Too close,” Amaris brushed her away and took aim again.

“The Northmen won’t care about too close,” Kaelyn snickered. Amaris turned, aiming the bow at Kaelyn’s feet. The girl jumped away. “Ami!”

“Want to take some shots? You’ll hit the mark someday. I know it.”

“I can’t even pull the string,” Kaelyn sourly admitted.

“I won’t always be here, Kae. If the knights choose me, I won’t go easy. Sounds like you’d go right with them. Maybe a year in the labor camp will make you strong enough.”

“Ami, stop,” Kaelyn shuddered. They’ll not take me. I wouldn’t last a day in the mines. But you’d make them a fortune. They should’ve taken you already. Gotta be ready for them.”

“They won’t need to take me.”

“How come?”

“They just won’t, that’s why,” Ami’s red brow flickered. “Now, your garden looks like a weed bed. At this rate you’ll be selling dandelions this season.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I can make soup.”

Kaelyn went about her chores. She plucked weeds from her flower and vegetable beds, removed deadheads, and checked for mold. Grabbing a bucket, she walked into town, passing farms on the cart road, and the fluffy tail of a ginger cat. She bent to stroke his fur, wounding his pride as he imagined himself hidden, stalking a squirrel, half obscured by brush and crouching beneath a fence. Kaelyn had a sixth sense for animals. They were her best friends. Accepting her belly rubs, the cat yawned in morning light as Kaelyn giggled. He belonged to Gascoyne, owner of the local tavern. The cat ate better than most children in Remy.

Resuming her walk, Kaelyn reached Remy town square and its communal well. Three housewives with buckets queued for the well, eyeing her mockingly.

“It’s you,” said Madame Olson. “I hope you’re here to wash up. A good bath would get that silver hair to shine like treasure. Ragamuffins don’t find husbands.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kaelyn bit back. “Maybe I don’t want a husband.”

“Oh,” the women gasped, chuckling to one another. “You’re not like your tomboy sister, are you? Well, my Barry makes me very happy. And he’s given me a daughter too! What’ve you got? A little mouse?”

“His name is Whiskerwinks. I let him in, and he decided to stay.”

“Well at least something stayed with you. I heard your sister’s leaving for Loraphen.” Kaelyn shook her head, stifling the heat in her cheeks as she studied the well.

“I’ve heard she talks to spirits in the woods,” said a second woman.

“Spent too long in the wilderness, have ye?” asked the third. “That’ll turn ye into a witch!” The women cackled.

“Oh, Deirdre,” Madam Olson continued. “I know you like men in armor. Lord Ryndale’s new knight is a man who drinks whole towns dry. My Barry says a man who can handle his liquor is a man worth fighting for.”

“You fawn over these knights, let them lord over you when they’re nothing but entitled brutes,” Kaelyn spat, snatching back their attention. “You’re pathetic.”

“Little Kae,” Olson cooed. “You’re of age to serve the lord this year. We’re all old hat, but if that bounty struck when we were young, we’d have jumped on it.”

“Why don’t you pledge him your service now?” Kae shot back.

The women laughed again before filling their buckets and scurrying home to prepare for Feast Day. Half Kaelyn’s bucket spilled on her walk back home. Amaris usually did this, but she was still shooting strawmen.

“Do you expect an army to appear from the hills?” Kaelyn called.

“No, but perhaps some knights, a few rebels or maybe… Garzian raiders.”

“I’d not jest. Garzians cross the border around harvest to steal sheep and… people. Must be getting cold up north. Colder than here anyways. You’ll take ‘em all on yourself, eh?”

“They’re just men, and they can be killed.”

“Can’t believe you’re working today of all days. You know the knights could kill you for dodging judgement.”

“Someone’s got to.”

“Well, don’t be late for the shift that kills you,” Kaelyn stalked away, grabbing a copy of the Naiad Path and a pair of spectacles with rose quartz lenses on her way out the front door.

“Mornin’, Kae,” called her neighbor Luc. Pale blue eyes nestled in a kind face of worn leather skin as he stood from stacking wood outside her door. The cottage she shared with her sister stood in the shadow of his home and business, the Edgewood Lumbermill. His house was warm and inviting, stocked with woodcrafts for sale. His designs couldn’t be beat across the kingdom’s northern borderlands. Today she opted for fresh air. “Reading again are ye?”

“Morning, Luc,” she waved. “Yes, reading. Thank you again for the spectacles. There are a few runes in here I wanted to try and decipher.” He’d taught her the runes as well. Only rose quartz lenses could change their shapes into something recognizable.

“My pleasure, lily! I thought of you and couldn’t pass ‘em by.”

“You’re too kind, Luc,” Kaelyn breathed. “Walk to the Fairy Tree with me?”

“Oh, I don’t see why not,” he grunted, cracking his back, and joining her.

They took the cart road north. Half a mile past the smell of pig farms, Olson’s Dairy, and Barlow’s wheat fields was a meadow of bloodred poppies. Kaelyn whispered a prayer to Daphne, the Lily Maid and Mother of All. Sun smiled down as they basked in Her heavenly grace. A river curled around the Fairy Tree where they sat on its muddy bank. The Fairy Tree was an elder oak, sheltering them with a greenish hue to its craggy bark. Its boughs opened to either side in a powerful embrace. Sometimes Kaelyn leaned against the tree, hoping it would hug her back. It’d been so long since Ami gave her one.

“Did the Fairy Tree really grow from an Wilderwood acorn?” she asked.

“Yes, but it wasn’t my choice. It stowed in my pocket and leapt out when I settled in Remy. Tree grew itself. Must’ve come here for a reason.”

“That’s nonsense, Luc.” His look said he’d never tell. “So, this is a Wilderwood tree.”

“It’s less than twenty years old. Give it time to grow. Its small but it’s ours. Got Remy village painted on it, through and through. My woodsmen would never cut it down. We revere Mother Daphne too much.” He looked at her with admiration. “Warms my heart you took to her teachings. You’re a good disciple, you know. She’s the mother of the earth and its beasts. Your way with animals tells me she loves you.”

“All I’ve got is a bread-eating mouse. Her teachings ask us to abstain from meat and drink, to donate nonessentials.” Kaelyn paused somberly. “I do my part, but few others follow her these days. Not even Ami. Our people have lost sight of her and their fellow man.”

“Its war, Kae,” said Luc. “We all go hungry when the rebels attack. Some say they’re right, that the king’s corrupt. But we’ve got to keep faith. The people are strong and so is their goddess. The lords tax us dry, take our young. But the rebels are terrorists, and the lords won’t rest till they’re dead. I pity them sometimes, thinkin’ they know what’s best.”

“If you still served the rangers, you’d be hunting them, wouldn’t you?”

“That was a long time ago. Here in Remy, I’m just Luc. ‘Lucky Luciano’ is dead.”

“You’re proud to live here, aren’t you? Even though you’re Samperi?”

“A man’s got to be from somewhere. Sampere’s far to the south, the sun’s hotter, the people speak faster, grow up faster. But Sampere’s still the king’s domain. Remy’s a fine town. And part of it’s my doing. Wasn’t much more than a frontier stopover when I moved here.”

“We owe you everything,” Kaelyn spoke softly. “The house, Ami’s job. And I know these spectacles cost you dearly.”

“I should thank you girls for givin’ an old coot company. Was a pleasure teachin’ ye to read and Ami’s lumber-haulin’ made me the richest man in Remy. Like bein’ the shiniest turd on the pile!” He laughed, slapping his knee.

“Remy’s not so bad. It’s all I’ve ever known. If you didn’t take us in and give Ami a job when we left the orphanage… Lots of folk throw glances at us. You risked your seat at council to take us in after Ami beat up all those guardsmen. Thank you, Luc. If not for you, Ami and I would be dead by now.”

“The day Ami turned sixteen, she marched from the orphanage to the army recruiter. Thought she’d kill the Bandit King himself!”

“She’s always been strong-willed. Thanks for talking her out of it.”

“Just had to teach her the sword and the bow. You’re both strong in your own way. I saw you at town square that day, tellin’ her off in front of the recruiter. You were stubborn as hell sayin’ she wasn’t ready for it. Takes a lot to stand up to yer sister, ‘specially that one. Guess I needed some excitement in my life. Gets lonely on the edge of town.” Luc sniffed, blue eyes glistening. “Wood won’t stack itself. Thanks for the walk and talk, Kae. Don’t stay out too long.”

Luc left Kae to her thoughts as she dipped her legs, then her whole body in the stream. The cool current washed over her, sounds of nature caressing her senses. The wind whispered through the trees, soft words to ease her mind. Here she forgot the villagers who didn’t approve of Ami and her living on their own. Kae felt old sometimes, weighed down by the world. Her silver hair made her look wiser than her years. The trees, and the river, and the fish never looked at her with scorn. It was here her thoughts could wander in peace. She read Daphne’s holy book using the rose quartz glasses.

From the Wilderwood, Daphne’s religion spread. Her nymphs sent sages to the court of every lord and king, and finally to villages where her word took root. In that time Ambryn was united in their love for the goddess. Forgiveness, compassion, and equality were virtues. Nobody hoarded food, there was always enough to eat, and judgment was never passed. No one remembered that time. In the fifty years since King Syrile’s coronation, the temples taxed the people near to death. Heeding the goddess, people gave what they could and were left paupers. King and clergy seemed not to hear when they went hungry, and raiders appeared.

Kaelyn’s eyes drifted to the web of branches above. She believed the Fairy Tree protected the whole village. It was a place young men and women came to be alone. Amaris told her often of the many boys, and a few girls, who she brought here. She never skipped a detail and Kaelyn dreamed what it would be like, thinking of who she would bring. When asked what it was like to kiss a boy, Amaris said, “I’d tell if you if their beards didn’t always get in the way.”

Daphne’s book transported her to the Wilderwood, where her ways were first taught. It was a place of beasts and danger, but also the source of all life. Luc was one of a few men to ever return from the Wilderwood. King Syrile was another. Known as the land of the gods, there were some who would harvest its resources but few dared, and none were successful. Kaelyn was glad of this. Though she read Daphne’s book daily, she preferred to learn of it from a distance. Though sometimes she dreamt of walking the Wilderwood’s moonlit groves.

Kaelyn returned home at midday to break her fast. Amaris waited for her. They ate a few apples with honey butter Luc bought for them at market. His work was done, and they heard his snoring from outside Edgewood Lumbermill. The men grinned and waved at Kae. “Mornin’, lily,” they said. At least they didn’t hate her. It was mostly Remy’s women. Ami stepped out, stealing their eyes. They liked her even more. Kae couldn’t blame them. Ami was a woman grown at eighteen. Kae was slight and looked more than two years younger.

Kaelyn and Ami were tied for least lady-like of all women and girls in Remy. Ami might walk and act like a man, but Kae was half otter. Mud covered her knees from the river, clay stuck in her hair, and shoes trailed black water. Despite the stares and remarks, she loved swimming in the Fairy Tree’s stream. It was the best cure for a hot day and the only way to treat a sunburn. Kae’s bare feet left muddy streak on the cart road as Ami’s boots outpaced her. Pig and cow manure filled their senses, causing Ami to wrinkle her nose.

“Does the capitol smell like this?” Kae asked. “I rather like it.”

“Wouldn’t know… never been,” Ami said stiffly. “But I’m gonna find out.”

“Some day?” Kae asked. Ami didn’t respond.

Both girls had green eyes and tanned, freckled skin from long days in the sun. Ami cut the line in the well, snatched Madam Olson’s bucket and dumped it over her heard. “Hangover’s been killin’ me all day,” she explained, handing Olson back her bucket. Olson’s face shriveled but she said nothing as the other women grumbled and sighed. Ami turned on her heel and Kae suppressed a laugh. After bloodying the guardsmen two years before, no one picked fights with Kae’s sister. Wearing her leather armor and trademark fierceness, Ami looked every bit the warrior.

In the orphanage yard stood Kaelyn’s old friend Laran. He was playing Ghellet with the younger orphans. They kicked and tossed the leather ball to each other, running around in the grass, laughing and hollering. Kae lingered at the gate to watch him serve the kick-off. She admired his coal black hair and broad shoulders. Ami pulled her along by the ear. If this hadn’t kept her moving, Abbot Arden came into sight as well. The abbot wielded a broom to defend his gate. “Get you gone, wood-sisters. Pair of blasphemous heathens.”

Kaelyn remembered her childhood at the orphanage, how she couldn’t handle a Ghellet ball to save her life. Part of her pitied Laran, old enough to leave the orphanage, yet he stayed. Kaelyn left with Ami as soon as she turned sixteen. They didn’t miss Abbot Arden or his lectures. His version of Daphne wasn’t the same as Luc’s. Arden only spoke of nature’s punishment upon humans for desecrating her soil. When she left the orphanage, Kaelyn stole as many of the abbot’s books as she could fit in her knapsack.

Their pace slowed as villagers choked town center. Everyone wore their Harvest Feast best: brightly colored tunics and dresses, hair braided or slicked with grease. Seeing Kaelyn, covered from the waist down in mud, they let her pass. Slipping through, she avoided their glares, but still heard someone cry, “Knights take you, witch!” Amaris burned that person with an evil stare, and Kaelyn wondered if she’d find them alone later.

Remy’s market on Saturn’s day was an event attended by travelers from miles around. At town center Saint Remy’s statue, giving the town its name. Born a stable boy a century ago, Remy was elevated to sainthood after freeing an Ambrish princess from capture. A grassy common surrounded the granite statue where children played, and livestock grazed. Barry Olson’s cows got into Barlow’s wheat stores. Music and laughter filled the autumn air. Life wasn’t perfect but Kae would be happy if it never changed.

The Suckling Pig Tavern was the only two-story building, towering over the square. From a window on the second floor, a barmaid hung soiled bedsheets to dry in the summer sun. Shaking her locks at the hundreds of people already filling the square, the barmaid ducked back inside. After market, every traveler sought a room there, finding sleep only after drinking Gascoyne’s finest ale. The noise and bodies pressed together. Even Kaelyn danced, and villagers nodded, clapping for her. It was Harvest Feast after all, the biggest celebration of the year. Most travelers frowned at Remy’s square, calling their homes hovels or shacks. Kaelyn took offense to this, for it was the only town she ever knew. She imagined what the capitol of Loraphen must look like with towering stone buildings, animals and people packed together for slaughter. She’d heard life was fast and cheap there. A port filled with trade and gangs, some of them peddling dream tar and bliss petals. Instead, she dreamed of the Wilderwood, leaving civilization’s manmade terrors behind.

[almorrall]

Howl at the Moon

Chapter One

The letter appeared on a silver pan sliding across Erin’s bedroom floor. Its slight “ting” woke her from a dream of balls and grandeur. She didn’t love such dreams for they were mundane. They were her waking life. She lived in luxury in Ambryn’s capital, niece of the King. She yearned for something more. Grit, grind, dirt. Not endless pampering, servants, and suitors gawking at her gowns. Not all were terrible. Sir Varick Winthor was charming and handsome. But Sir Donovan Braxton was crow-skinny and clumsy as a half-stuffed scarecrow.

Erin rose from bed, shaking off gallant dreams, eyes locked on the yellowed envelope under her door. From the breathing, she knew it was Rena, her handmaid and closest friend behind that door. Erin leapt from bed, realization dawning. This was the first day of the rest of her life. This was her moment to learn if balls and banquets were her forever. Freedom lurked within that letter. She stubbed her toe on the bedpost, yelping and falling to her knees as she grasped the silver pan. Every meal or piece of mail must be delivered this way, so said Erin’s mother, The Duchess.

She peeled the sacred envelope open, careful not to wrinkle its contents. The letter was all. She read:

Lady Erin Locke,

Manifold apologies at the lateness of my reply. I received your portfolio weeks ago, but only now have I reviewed it. An Archmage’s life is filled with study and toil. Of this you know for if your submission is to be believed, you wish to follow in my footsteps. I haven’t the foggiest why anyone would accept such a burden, but its true that I committed to the same at your age of sixteen years. Oh, youth is a terrible and wondrous thing.

If I had sense, I’d suggest taking up knitting and finding a rich husband. You’d be far happier that way. Alas, in my old age, wisdom’s worn thing. Perhaps its too many scrolls and dust. But if that’s the life you’ve requested, that’s the life I can deliver. Your submission has been accepted. A carriage delivered this letter and its drivers to bring you north.

Safe travels.

Bartolo Larson, Esquire.

“Still a squire at his age?” Erin wondered. “He’s seventy. Must be a formality.”

“You read it?” Rena burst through the door built to hold back Delcine invaders, but not the ecstatic maid. “What does it say? Did you get in? Oh, please say you did. Or say that you didn’t. I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. Whose handmaid would I be? Or take me with you. Yes, some country air would do us good. Please, say you’ll take me with you! You don’t know how to cook or sew or wash your clothes. Every hour with your nose in a book. Well, tell me. Did you get in?”

“I’m not as helpless as you think,” Erin sat down to butter her bread. “Say, how do you toast it just right?”

“Well, the secret is to start the fire early, get hot coals glowing and slowly turn it over…” Rena stopped. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure Larson has cooks… and maids.”

“But say it weren’t so! I can’t be replaced. You’ll never have another maid like me.”

“Never.”

“Then it’s settled. You’re taking me and you got in?”

Erin smiled and nodded.

“I knew!” Rena threw up her arms and tackled Erin onto the bed. She nearly spilled her lady’s pomegranate juice, leftover from last night. Always calmed her nerves. “Erin, thank you so much for taking me with you! You’re the wisest, hardest-working lady I know!”

“And I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“A friend?” Oh, thank you, Erin. You’re the sweetest too. Bless your mother, but her kindness pales beside yours.”

“Her kindness?” Erin laughed at the notion.

“Erin?” an imperious voice sounded beyond. Two knights in silver stood in the doorway. They parted to let a lady with chestnut and grey locks enter Erin’s chamber. Rena fell to her knees, and this time she did knock over the pomegranate juice. She mopped it with her apron.

“Rena, you ox,” said Erin’s mother, painting nails tapping her porcelain chin. “I’ll forgive your ill words and clumsiness if you’ll leave us at once.”

Rena bowed and withdrew in rare silence, bustling past the knight escorts.

“I trust Archmage Larson accepted you?” Duchess Locke asked her daughter.

“Yes, mother,” Erin said coolly, gazing on castle towers out the window. She’d sooner depart this cold, callous place. The way her mother disdained the help was frightening. “His carriage waits to take us north in the stable yard.”

“Us? You’d take that nitwit.” Erin stayed silent. “And not your mother?” More silence. “So quick to leave me. After all these years. Who paid for your tutors? All these books? The ink, and parchment? You think it cheap?” The Duchess raged with venom on her tongue. She pretended at softening. “You’re all I have left, Erin. Since your father the Duke passed five years ago, this house has fallen into disgrace. If you don’t marry well, we’ll be doomed to poverty.”

“We live in uncle’s palace. Knights, maids, servants. What more do we need?”

“Once we had our own palace. Our own knights and servants. Our own land.”

“You sound greedy, mother. Your brother the King gives us everything. We’re practically royalty.”

“Practically, but not truly. Others seek to usurp us. My brother is no charity. We are in his debt for these long years of lodging.”

“You make it sound like a prison. And for me it is. I thank you for funding my study and education but now that I’ve proven myself, I must fly this stone and steel cage.”

“And never again shall we know such heights.” The Duchess feigned a swoon and Erin nearly laughed. “Your father would be ashamed.”

“For following my heart and dreaming of freedom?”

“For fleeing and dishonoring ancient House Locke.”

“You married into House Locke. Even then you married down. You were born a princess, but you’d never become Queen unless you married your own brother. A pity you didn’t.”

“You’d insult your own King, you treasonous whelp? Be grateful I don’t strip you of title, Lady Locke.”

“Do it, mother. I’ll lift my own ship on waters of my dreaming.”

The Duchess quivered, eyes watering. Erin had never seen her mother so vulnerable. She couldn’t believe it. Was her mother so lonely? Did she really need her? She never said so, never showed it any way. Could it be true?

“I’ll not let you go,” the Duchess held her daughter. She hadn’t embraced Erin in months. It felt strange. Like a chokehold. “I’ll follow you to Larson Tower. I’ll follow you to Northheim if that’s what it takes. You’re my daughter, and you’re a Locke. But you’ve royal blood too. One day I’ll find a match your equal. There’s Sir Varick Winthor, Captain of brother’s Crown Knights. Or the Wizard Lord of Delcin. The truce with out neighbors wears thin. Another war will beggar our lands. And Larson’s Tower is first to fall. He’s an Agent of the King, watching our eastern border with Delcin. Appease the Wizard Lord and he cannot invade us.”

Erin sucked in her breath.

“You never knew?” the Duchess grinned. “Serving Larson means serving the King as our first line of defense. So keen to go north now? It’s a battleground. Where your father died.”

Erin blinked, fighting back the tears. She’d shed far enough, buried herself in study to forget her father’s death. She swallowed. “A dangerous frontier post. Will you be comfortable, mother, with so few servants to attend you?”

“I’ll manage. Sirs Remy and Lake and that Rena of yours will join us. Why not? Keep your pet awhile longer.”

***

Rena was born in Delcin and still spoke with a throaty accent. Duchess Locke never forgave Rena for it. The late Duke Locke died fighting Delcine invaders five years before. Master Larson was a veteran of that war. At the Battle of Wickett Hill, he contained Delcin’s Wizard Lord as no one else could. A generation of Ambrish mages died that day. Larson slowly refilled their ranks by training new students. He used utmost caution choosing students, and only a few survived the trials they faced at his tower on Ambryn’s frontier. Those who graduated were Ambryn’s elite wizards, many serving the King personally. As Ambryn was a proud and growing nation, there was always a conflict needed defusing.

These days, Larson committed to research. He hadn’t taken a student in years. Erin couldn’t believe her luck, but knew it was due to her hard work and demonstrations. Her “portfolio” was a magical letter, including an illusion of Erin performing all her finest spells. She was disappointed to find Larson’s reply was a plain paper letter. She’d studied every school of magic, mastered her elements and illusions. Yet there was still much to learn. Immersed in the Royal Library and free Academy lessons from an early age, she hungered for more. Erin knew Larson dabbled in forbidden magic. Chief amongst them were spells written by a Delcine mastermind, curses known only as the Five Evils. If Larson discovered her interest, he may brand her a dark wizard.

Master Larson’s carriage drivers awaited them once they descended from the Royal Palace on the Hills of Aristocracy. Its grand steps were white marble, its doors mahogany, walls and towers beautiful and impregnable. A symbol of Ambrish pride, raiders from north, east, and south sought to plunder its halls but were defeated by its strength and the natural protection of the Tryor Mountains. Rolling on their gilded carriage from Palace Plateau, the Duchess, Erin, and Rena crossed the Moat of Mermen where half-fish creatures rumored to dwell. Erin searched its waters, but never found any. She’d read every text on their existence and believed they lurked somewhere, feasting on defeated raiders cast into the water.

Larson’s drivers stood outside the stables. A boy of Erin’s age and his homely mother watched them with glazed eyes, wearing work gloves, aprons, and tunics. They looked too plain to serve Ambryn’s greatest Archmage. Erin began to realize that outside uncle’s palace, not everything needed adornment. She knew many surprises lay in wait. Larson’s servants held secrets behind their pale, guileless eyes. Perhaps discovering their true natures was the first of her many trials.

“Lady Locke, a pleasure to meet you,” the mother servant bowed. She spoke with distant warmth. “I am Meredith, and this is my son William.” His eyes were brown, unfazed. “And Duchess, we didn’t expect your presence. We have only this humble carriage. Will you be traveling north with us?”

“Yes, in fact, I will,” said Erin’s mother. “I’ll not throw my daughter to the wolves of fate on our northern border. Northmen, woods demons, wizards, and worse plague the Moonlit Woodlands. Tell me, are the tales true?”

“Yes,” said Meredith. Her eyes adopted a ghostly sheen. “And more. Though you’ll soon see for yourself. And the Master’s magic keeps us safe. All who serve his tower are protected.”

“Larson Tower must have magic wards,” said Erin, voice quickening. “Just as I suspected. I cannot wait to test-, I mean, see them, for myself.”

“Yes,” said William, offering a hand to help Erin inside their old, dusty carriage. “Let’s be gone. Too many eyes watch us in this place. The woods call us home.”

***

They traveled north across Ambryn’s capital city, perched amongst mountains of granite, nestled by the sea. It was a well-defended port which traded with Delcin in the east, Sangol in the south, and the northern borderlands. Ambryn taxed the north, but its knights were slow to offer its citizens their protection. Threats loomed everywhere in the borderlands. Deploying aid to its distant realm harried by raiders was difficult and costly. Everyone feared a new war with Delcin. The Duchess sailed between Delcin’s Winter Palace and Ambryn’s capital every month. She was more trusted than the King’s sycophants. Even if she was his brother, she spoke with her own voice and will. Since her husband was killed by Delcin, she sought to bargain for better relations. Deep down her resented the Delcine, but they saw her as a worthy adversary. They pitied her and knew her as a widow of their making. She suffered the scars of war same as they. She levied tariffs against Delcin, but she feared war as much as they. Still, not all shared her fears.

“Have you lived up here all your life?” Erin asked William, freed of her mother’s gaze and Rena’s prattling. They left the capital days before, winding along rivers, farmland, and wooded hills. Crossing the Scarlet River was an all-day affair, calling the barge, embarking, sailing across, and disembarking the north side. Stepping onto border earth, Erin felt the history. A thousand wars and skirmishes, some for borderman independence, and some to ward off foreign invasion. Centuries before, the bordermen lost their freedom to Ambryn, and enemies abroad eyed them as well.

“Yes, all my life,” William said as he drove them north. His brown eyes deflected the warm rays above. Already, the land was untamed, lawless, and overgrown. Brambles and evergreens sprouted everywhere, overtaking washed-out, craggy roads. Nothing was uniform and intentional like southern Ambryn. Erin breathed deep, auburn locks tousled by wind, adoring the piney air and sunshine. The sky stretched forever above, hawks winging over rolling plains. “Here we are free. The King is far away. The land is almost ours. We do as we please.”

“Withing Larson’s order,” said Erin.

“Master is kind. We may leave the tower for chores and fresh air, but never wander far for all the tales are true. As your mother fears… As she’ll see herself.” William’s eyes darkened, inward, and brooding. Erin wondered what he hinted at.

“I’ve read volumes on the Moonlit Woodlands. It can’t all be true.”

“Erin,” said Rena, tapping her shoulder. “Come back inside the carriage. It’s too cold.”

Erin climbed back inside to snuggle with Rena who was shivering. The Duchess rode ahead of their carriage with her knights, Sirs Remy, and Lake. They were young, handsome men in their twenties. Sometimes, Erin wondered if they served her mother in more ways than one. Once and entire legion served her father, Duke Locke. Now, the King permitted merely two knights to safeguard the Duchess and Erin, though many more would’ve volunteered. Erin smiled, freed from her endless capital suitors. Only green hills and high skies dogged her now.

“Erin, show me your magic,” said Rena.

“Rena,” Erin sighed. “I’ve shown you many times. But only parlor tricks. I can’t show you anything real.”

“Then teach me. I want to understand how it works if I’m going to be surrounded by it for the rest of my life.”

“You mean to serve me that long?” Did she have to ask? “Larson never keeps students longer than six months. We’re lucky to see him at all. He’s famously reclusive. I’d like to question his servants, but they’re… not all there. Makes me wonder about him too.”

“Please, Erin. Teach me the basics.”

“Alright.” Erin drew up her posture, inhaling and exhaling slow. “It begins with this, breathing. Following along if you want to understand.”

“Does this mean I can learn magic?”

“No. Well, I doubt it. It’s in your blood and should’ve shown when you came of age.”

“In my… blood? Is it as gruesome as it sounds?”

“Worse. Now, focus on your breath. Inhale the light. Exhale darkness. Fill a ball of light in your center. Feel it warm your body. It flows to every vessel, and pools in your fingers. You can channel the warmth, the energy with a healing touch if you’re a monk or priest. But us wizards can fill the air with arcane energy. Take this leaf.” Erin plucked a leaf that blew in through the carriage window. “I can make it fly by filling the air around it with energy.” The leaf fluttered around her hand. “That’s aeromancy. I can drain the water from it by pulling its energy out.” The leaf shriveled up in a ball. “That’s hydromancy.”

Rena’s eyes grew large as black diamonds. “Amazing,” she breathed.

“Parlor tricks,” Erin blew onto the leaf as it plumped with water once more. “I can increase the leaf’s energy until its atoms combust.” The leaf burst into flame. Rena was spellbound. “Pyromancy. Those are elemental schools. There’s also illusion. I fill the air with false energy.” Six leaves appeared, swirling the carriage above their heads. They disappeared, leaving the one burnt leaf. “And darker arts still.” Erin kissed the leaf and it unfolded, green and whole. “Death can return to life. But only as a shadow.” Rena examined the leaf, finding it not quite green but a pukish grey, and smelling of dusty ash. “Necromancy.”

“A dark art indeed.” Rena shuddered. “I’ve heard the Wizard Lord of Delcin is a master of necromancy.”

“Among other things. It can be used to control or animate objects.” The leaf began marching like a soldier. Rena laughed. “And perhaps the darkest art. We’ll need more leaves. Erin raised her hand to the window and a dozen leaves fluttered inside. “I can corrupt a thing’s energy.” The leaf melted into green goo before them. It flew into the other leaves, and they all melted like rain. The goo fell at Rena’s feet, burning the carriage floor. “Oops. Well, that is contagion. The power of mass death.”

“Frightful.”

A voice shouted outside, and Erin peeked through the window. A black column of smoke rose off the road ahead. “William, come quick!” the Duchess called back to them, followed by hurried hoofbeats. They reached a clearing of trees burnt to the cinder. Black charred remains dotted its surface. Melted weapons and bodies laid strewn everywhere. She leapt from the carriage, but her mother held her back. Erin pushed past her mother to glimpse a young man lying naked in the burnt-out clearing. He was well-muscled with thick brown hair. He wore nothing but a silver moon amulet around his neck. Erin ran to his side, finding him somehow unscathed. She touched his skin, scalding hot as green eyes eased open.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I’m… alive?” He met her blue eyes in surprise. “My name… is Ansel Davir.”

[almorrall]

Wheel of Fire

Heat rifled up Gasc’s ears as he moved to a tower of kitchen drawers. Pulling out the second and third from the bottom, he climbed up, reaching for numbers five and six on his way to the top. He stood on the pulled-out drawers, balancing so they wouldn’t eject, as he reached for the top one. His toes started to wiggle as the drawer under them complained. Closing his fingers, he pulled out the drawer, stretching his arms ever higher as he reached inside. Managing to extract a mahogany chest, he lifted it above his head with two hands like a champion’s prize. Sidling the chest under his arm and closing each drawer on his careful descent, he reached the kitchen floor.

Inside was his family’s greatest treasure: fine silver cutlery. He was on his way to sell them at market for a night on the town. No more would he wash floors and scrub pans. His father had neglected him for the last Saturn’s Eve, and this would be his. The congregation would look down on him no more. After spending a pittance on drink and food, he would secure his passage for the New World, leaving this life of drudgery behind. He doubted his father would miss his presence, just the old silver. There was only one problem. Children needed chaperones in the Pleasure District.

Padding downstairs, a thunderclap rattled the temple he and his father called home. This was followed by a splash which was strange. Normally the canal’s flow was peaceful this late at night. He was sure it was no phantasmagoric beast from his daydreams and adventure tomes. Waking life was so bereft of excitement, and nowhere was this truer here than in this strange city his father’s work dragged them to. Passing rows of worn pews, he peered through the double doors’ keyhole. A fetid breeze blew through, shriveling his nose.

Opening the door, he beheld the river that brought the city’s trade, stretching across the horizon. Beside the river, carriages and pedestrians bustled on cobble streets. City-goers delighted in adult debauchery, and he was soon to join them. His father wanted him inside studying his letters, but he would be disappointed. Rainless clouds hung like dour curtains. The world hungered for release, to cure the city’s humid staleness. Looking skyward, Gasc wondered at the thunder, glimpsing a red dot hovering over the river. He’d never noticed it, scratching the first stubble on his chin.

A soft patter of waves lapped the shore, broken by the sound of something rising from the water.

Gasc shut the door at once. The world was full of danger, and perhaps this was some terrible beast. Setting down the precious chest, he crossed the sanctuary to pass through a door beside the altar. His father sat glaring at him from behind square spectacles. Gasc studied his father's technique: maneuvering his quill like a master fencer. His father rarely spoke, at least to him. When he wasn’t preaching on Sabbath, he wrote sermons. Watching letters take form, the lad recognized every other one. He had no patience for them like his father did.

"Gascoigne!” Father Eugene pounded on the desk, toppling his inkwell. The preacher squealed, grabbing a handkerchief to rake it across his soiled parchment. “Never interrupt my writing! Times like these, I wish your mother were still alive.”

“Me too,” Gasc sniffed, balling his fists. “Father, I heard something outside. In the river.”

“Bah, nothing but wind and words. It’s getting late and tomorrow is Sabbath. Begone, and don’t disturb me again."

Gasc left before his father saw him cry. Once the door shut, his tears fell to the floor. Pews ringed him like a silent congregation, mocking his weakness. He padded to a stained-glass window depicting the warrior-saint Sabbaeus, silver sword hailing Paradise.  Peering out through the golden lens, made luminescent by a moon that hung at eye level, he touched the cold, sanctified glass. A noisome night in the riverport of Barrowdir played out before him.

Three weeks before, his father was called up to serve at a temple of his own in this cursed city. He was given a derelict ruin on a marshy stretch of river, into which folk dumped all manner of waste. Often, an empty crate of dream tar, or a clutch of bloated corpses gathered on the banks outside. Nonetheless, it bordered the Pleasure District, Barrowdir’s greatest attraction. One could sin all night and cross the canal to be absolved in the morning at their temple. Some came straight from nights in the district, still stinking of horrors.

Out there in the night, Gasc watched his father’s congregation sin in the evening with painted ladies. They spat on beggars, but only had spare coin for the collection plate on Sabbath. For this, Father Eugene strived. His sermons had to be immaculate to bring in nobles who bought forgiveness with gold. Father Eugene never had time for Gasc, not since his wife passed. It seemed he lost two parents that day. Her sickness overtook her, much like the city’s beggars, coughing up blood until she was small as a babe.

Gasc denied his father’s religion, the compulsion to remain meek before the storm. No more would he fall in line with the hollow creed. The only time was now.

A scratch came from outside the main doors, prompting Gasc to peer through the keyhole once more. Slowly, he pushed the door open, sighting that strange red orb over the river again.

“Boy,” came a gravelly sound from the ditch beside the temple. In the space where rainwater drained, a wet mound of fur rolled to face him. Two curved horns stretched from the beast’s great head, and it grunted as it rose on two hooves. Backing away, Gasc covered his mouth, but no sound would come. “Have you got anything to eat?” it asked, seeming to shake the ground as it moved. The creature was full eight feet tall and corded with iron bands of muscle.

“Wh-what are you?” Gasc stammered.

“Once a man, exiled to this time and place,” the creature’s eyes were foggy and distant. “I’ve been cursed with the form of a minotaur.”

“A time traveler? Ridiculous. Though I did hear something slosh in the river.”

“Nearly drowned in that putrid runoff. Barely made it to your temple. In my world priests turn none away.”

“Well, I wouldn’t ask my father for favors. You’re a monster!”

“I am no beast,” The creature’s lip trembled, falling to one knee. “But I’m hungry.” His great chest heaved with the effort to draw breath. Though he appeared formidable, his ribs showed, fur was patchy, and muzzle discolored.

“Alright, I’ll give you some food. But only if you go away.”

“Go away. If only I could. I am not only cursed but banished so it seems I’m stuck here.”

“Alright, well come around to the back.” Gasc led the minotaur out of sight before bringing him an armful of bread, cheese, and a rare shank of salted beef his father saved for holidays. Setting the food down, he watched the minotaur devour a sourdough loaf in seconds.

“So, you were cursed with this form? Are you telling me magic is real?”

“In my time, yes. A dark god gave me this form. Its demon servants can’t be far behind.” Gasc’s face turned pale as the minotaur ate. “Hmmmf, this is good. What is it?”

“Never heard of beef?”

“Well, I wasn’t born a cow,” the minotaur chuckled.

“What do I call you?”

“I’ve forgotten my name and much of my past. I was a great warrior, that’s all I know.”

“Built like that you’d be the greatest warrior in Ambryn! How about Marduk? That’s the Sangoli God of war. Mard for short?”

“Mard. An ugly name.”

“Well, you’re not very pretty.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Gasc.”

“Even worse,” the minotaur belched an ungodly sound as he finished his meal.

“I’ve got an idea,” Gasc snapped his fingers. “You’ve emptied our pantry, so we’ll need coin if you want more food. Let’s visit the Pleasure District’s fighting pits. Stay here.”

Gasc retrieved the mahogany chest he’d pilfered from the kitchen. He could’ve sold the family cutlery for food, but he had other ideas.

#

His father forbade him from the Pleasure District for children were not allowed without chaperones. Mard looked like an adult so Gasc would be permitted to enter. Both feeling out of place, he sensed a bond with this minotaur, however strange. Mard seemed to share his desire to drink life in full, or at least ‘eat the whole pantry.’ On a night like this, there was no time to waste in the pursuit of adventure and excitement.

Covered in a cloak, Mard’s horns were hidden, and Gasc led him across the canal to the fens, passing more academies, cathedrals, and brownstone manses.  Finally, they reached Moortown, lying in the shadow of high kleptocracy, where pirates, rumrunners, and fur traders settled. Further down, mossy green walls and spiraling arena seats welcomed them to the fighting pits.  Past Barrowdir’s western gates lay the frontier, perilous highways, and impassable countryside. Gasc had never been this far west, a land of fantasy and wonder in his eager mind.

Moortown was neither clean nor orderly. People and their hovels popped up at random. Cows ate cobble grass, and herders nursed hangovers in wagons of hay. Flagons of ale and bottles of brandy lined the streets, slipping from drunken fingers. Passing the medicated masses, they entered the fighting pits where a crowd raged more raucous than any in all the land. They slurred fight songs of Barrowdir, eager to see the games.

Arena platforms loomed above, upon which swarmed hordes of rabid spectators. Flanked by guards, clerks checked tickets for the games. Gasc led Mard to a concession stall on the main causeway. Golden helmets, miniature trumpets, and silken scarves of many colors lined the stall. Behind the counter was an Ambrish lady only a few years older than Gasc. He approached, clutching the mahogany chest he pilfered from his kitchen’s top drawer. Setting it on the counter, he nodded to her and gulped.

“Milady, I’ve some goods to sell. I see you take an appreciation for fine metals, and I need coin to purchase tickets for the games.”

“Not the usual request,” she grinned slyly, opening the chest. Silver shone in her green eyes as her smile grew. Gasc wringed his hands, feeling sweat drip off them. Mard leaned against the counter, sniffing about for food. The lad reached up and smacked the disguised minotaur on the shoulder.

“Usually I’m the one selling,” said the lady. “But you’ve got Sangoli silver here. I’ll give you fifty gold lilies for the cutlery.”

“Oh,” Gasc bit his lip. “Thank you, milady. That would be grand!”

“No ‘milady’ needed, my name is Adara.” Her smile was like summer sunshine, even tinged by irony, and he had no idea how to respond. No woman had ever treated him like an adult before. For once he’d combed back his hair and put on formal dress robes. He hadn’t worn them since confirmation. They were wool and hot as sin but made him look older.

“A-and I’m Gasc.”

“Here to see the games?”

“Well yes. But I’ve got a fighter to enter as well.”

“You better hurry then. Perhaps I’ll see you inside?”

Gasc nodded three times, before Mard pulled him away with a sack of gold in his hands. The minotaur rasped, “So, I’m doing some fighting, eh? What’s in it for me?”

“Food,” Gasc said at once. “And gold! What more could you want?”

Mard scratched his muzzle as Gasc ushered him down to the gladiator level.

Gasc found a seat halfway up the stands. He wanted front row but determined not to squander his gold. It was more than he’d ever had, and if he wanted to escape his father’s wrath, he’d have to save some for passage across the sea. For now, he watched the games, with a flagon of ale in hand. Tipping it back, he nearly wretched at the taste but looked around and saw other men drinking with ease. The second sip tasted better.

A bell tolled on the governor’s pavilion as the games began. The usual warm-up matches ensued, gladiators armed with tridents and nets stalked each other. When one was caught, they asked the governor and the crowd how to dispatch them. Gasc rose to his feet, shouting with glee. It was the first time he saw men fight like this and the emotion took hold of him.

Enraptured by the melee below, Gasc didn’t notice a female form sit next to him until he turned left. Nearly falling from his seat, he took a moment to catch his breath. Adara laughed at his side, slapping his knee, and tipping back her own flagon.

“Enjoying the games, Gasc?”

“Quite so,” he nodded, unable to look directly into her green eyes. They shone like beacons and made him feel warmth he hadn’t felt before.

“Now, our main event!” called the ringmaster. A squad of six warriors in glinting breastplates marched onto the sand. “Let’s hear it for your champions, the Golden Governors!” Cheers consumed the crowd like a wave of madness.

Gasc frowned, mutter, “I hope the golden pricks all get maimed.”

“What was that?” Adara asked. Gasc shrugged and pretended he hadn’t spoken.

With the backing of Barrowdiran nobles, they wore gilded helms plumed with horsehair and shining broadswords to match their armor. They almost resembled centurions of old, which Gasc had only read of in books.

Now on his third flagon, a gamble popped into Gasc’s mind, and he couldn’t prevent it from passing his lips. “I’ll wager forty gold at twenty-to-tone odds that a Golden Governor gets bloodied this day.”

“Agreed,” Adara grinned. Gasc regretted his words almost immediately.

He watched with bated breath, turning to horror as the Golden Governors dominated their inferior opponents without losing a drop of blood. Gasc grabbed what gold pieces remained his, filling his pockets and left the sack for Adara. “But wait,” she said. “There’s another contender.”

“A last-minute entry,” barked the ringmaster. “We’ve got one last challenger! It’s the mystery giant Mard!”

Confused responses reverberated through the crowd: questions, groans and facepalms. Gasc leaned forward, wondering how they could place Mard against the governors in his first match. It was suicide!

The eight-foot mystery contender approached in his voluminous cloak. With a single tear, he ripped the cloth from his body, revealing sinewy muscle and naught but a loincloth beneath. A broadsword rested on his belt, which he drew with vigor, turning mad eyes on the governors.

Spectators watched, baffled and unresponsive as shock rolled over their faces. None had seen a creature like this before.

“Wh-what is Mard?” bellowed the ringmaster. “Are beasts allowed in this round?”

Gasc couldn’t look away, mouth agape, and Adara’s expression soured at once. The crowd grew silent, watching their gold slip away on the minotaur’s shoulders. Moments later, the six Golden Governors laid sprawled on the sand and Mard rested the blade on his shoulder. A flurry of onions, tomatoes and radishes hurled at the minotaur.

“There must be some mistake!” called the ringmaster. “This contestant cheated!”

Twelve sentries in chainmail bearing halberds trudged into the arena. Mard leveled his sword, facing new foes.

#

Gasc awoke on a damp stone floor, bathed in darkness.  He shivered, hugging his legs in the corner of a cell.  To his left, he saw Mard chained in the next cell over.  Both eyes were bruised, one lip bloodied, and sword cuts covered his fur.  The beast had seen better days.  How such a creature came to be, Gasc could not fathom.  His world was one of men ruling others with coin and iron. There were no monsters, no beasts who fought like mad, until today.

Finding his feet, he moved to a window overlooking Ystrin river. He gripped the sill as foul breeze washed over him.  Gasc wondered what became of Adara or his gold. He won that wager but now he was penniless, imprisoned for entering a non-human combatant in the arena. He never imagined spending all the gold in one night. This was to be the first day in the rest of his life. The ship back across the sea would never come for him now.

“There is no justice,” he breathed. “No saints, no gods, nothing but savagery.”

Again, Gasc spied the red orb hovering in the night sky. It grew larger as he looked, leaving a bright trail, descending toward the city.  Dread wrenched his gut, expelling three pints on the stone floor.  Frantic eyes returned to see carriages roll past the river's edge.  Flickers of scarlet shone on the river’s glassy surface. Gasc watched as the crimson orb spewed flame in all directions.  Hovering over the river, it hung in air for what felt like an eternity. 

Gooseflesh covered Gasc’s body.  The minotaur thrashed his head, groaning.  In a blinding flash of light, the orb erupted, illuminating heaven above and the faces of onlookers below.  Spiraling claws of flame lanced over the river, coalescing in a wheel of fire that spun on its side. Carriages stopped in their tracks.  Onlookers babbled as they approached the water's edge, pulled along as if by an invisible thread.

Dispersing as quickly as it appeared, night closed around the wheel of fire.  Out from its depths dropped an irregular but rounded form.  It slipped from the blaze to splash two hundred yards from Gasc’s window.  Only he seemed to see the shape, as he was closest, and no onlookers reacted. Closing his eyes, the otherworldly sight was burned into his memory, and his mind unraveled to explain.  Gasc stared at the water, seeking out movement within the Ystrin’s gentle lap.

With the roar of a raging tempest, the wheel of fire collapsed in on itself until nothing remained but a yellow mist that hugged the river. Silver moonlight created a golden haze, obscuring what lay beneath. City-dwellers shrugged and returned to their carriages or evening strolls.

As folk turned away, a tentacle broke the river’s surface, ascending skyward. Gasc stammered, trying to get the minotaur’s attention.  Shuddered gasps rippled through the onlookers, as the tentacle rose high above before slamming into the pier. Shards of wood erupted as the tentacle flailed, reaching higher on the bank. It wrapped its suction cups around the wheel of a carriage. The carriage was dragged, tearing up cobbles, prompting shrieks from nearby people. Its driver unhooked his horses just in time before the carriage was launched into the air over the Ystrin. It landed with a horrific splash, sinking from sight.

Waters churned where the carriage sank as tentacles appeared, crushing down. The family who’d been inside moments before scrambled up the bank. A wave of terror propelled the masses away, but the beast had a taste for carnage. More tentacles emerged, reaching to grab people by their ankles. With tremendous force, they were snapped back down the bank, into the roiling shallows.

A grunt at Gasc’s side made him jump. He flinched as Mard flexed, shattering his manacles to pieces.  He tore the chain that bound his hooves and slid off the wall. Cracking his iron-banded neck, he kicked down his cell door. Gasc’s door burst open next, as Mard bent to rub his knees. Pained gasps escaped his muzzle, as Gasc saw the full extent of the beating he suffered from Barrowdir’s guards. Mard shook his head to the side, indicating Gasc should move.  Sidling as close to the wall as possible, he sucked in his breath.

Mard crouched and bowed like a sprinter before exploding forward. His horns blasted through the brick wall, and he found himself hovering in midair over the river before plummeting into the waters below.  The boy peered out through a gap the size and shape of an eight-foot minotaur. As waters raged at his jump, Mard swam toward the beast. With a mind-cleaving squeal, the beast submerged. Gasc watched an ominous current cross to the space below his perch.

Gasc watched as a bulbous head emerged from the water. Its head was covered in a dozen blue orbs that focused on its prey.  The boy doubled over, as an odor like fetid flesh wafted from the thousand-toothed jaws of the beast.  His feet froze to the floor as he stared into the many eyes of madness.  Six tentacles reached out, converging on Gasc from different angles. He trembled as into the noxious maw opened wide.

Before the lipless mouth could wrap around his head, it recoiled, slamming shut short of his face.  The beast reeled backward, tentacles framing the air around Gasc. Spinning on its side, the ovular beast thrashed as a darker form clung to its backside. Rolling, Gasc lost sight of the human-sized shape that hung to its round, smooth flesh.  Before fighting the urge to vomit again, Gasc buried the fear deep within. He climbed out over the Ystrin, making his way across the dungeon wall, and dropping to the street beyond. Once there, he sprinted toward his father’s temple.

What dark creature had appeared from the portal, Gasc could not say. It too was unlike anything he had seen before today. Perhaps it was linked to Mard, but Gasc knew only the minotaur could defeat such a creature.

His father waited for him outside the temple, sermon tome nestled under his arm, as he watched his son approach. "Quickly, inside with you!" he urged his son.  Gasc slapped his father's hand away.

"I will not! My friend is fighting that beast. I’ll not leave him to be killed by it.”

“Your friend? What are you talking about? Come inside, we must pray!”

“Your god never warned of beasts from other worlds. What good is he now?”

"Gascoigne! Get inside now!" His father reached again, still clutching the tome in his other hand. "I won’t lose you too!"

"No!" cried the boy, slapping the tome from his father's hand. Its pages fell to the cobbles.  His father shrieked, cradling the tome like an infant in his arms. His parchment was smeared with mud, ink running.  Gasc shook his head, as a geyser of water plumed in the river nearby. He ran to the bank, watching the turmoil wreaked from Mard’s underwater struggle. A wave engulfed the bank, revealing tentacles that clung to the earth with spiny cups. As all twelve eyes and tentacles appeared, Mard was hurled to tumble across the bank.

The lad looked over his shoulder, as the minotaur rose before yanking the spoke off a carriage wheel. He held it like a club as the beast thrashed again, unveiling fetid jaws, and yowling like an aquatic panther. Gasc sprinted up the bank, attempting to escape their next clash. A tentacle whipped around his calf as he was sucked toward the beast’s jaws. Gasc stared into his doom, growing closer each second, before a scent of wet leather arrived.

Mard plunged the wooden spoke into a saucer-like eye, splattering his muzzle with grey goo. The resultant screech caused boy and minotaur to clamp their ears in agony.

“Begone, foul beast!” Gasc heard from the cobbles above. His father approached, wielding the temple’s relic: an ancient longsword. In Eugene’s other hand, he clutched his sermon book, like a paladin defending his temple. Gasc knew his father was no warrior, and he tried to cry out, to warn him before it was too late.

Lured by the preacher’s call, the beast lashed its tentacles to the bank and rolled forward with sickening speed. Its barbed cups caught hold of the preacher’s robe, dragging him closer. The relic sword clattered to the cobbles. Its toothy maw gaped wide and Gasc whimpered in the mud. Before the jaws descended, a furry form closed the distance.

Snatching up the longsword, Mard plunged its tip into the creature’s backside. Driving it up through tenuous flesh, the beast sheared their minds with one last wail. Writhing in a maelstrom of tentacles, the beast turned on Mard, flinging stones and tearing out his fur. The minotaur roared, slashing again to split the beast’s twelve eyes down the middle.

#

Gasc’s head was pounding as his vision returned. He searched his body and found no injury, defying all expectation. The otherworldly beast’s rank maw still roared in his ears, its breath filling his senses. Shaking his head, he emerged from his pantry bedroom.

Entering the kitchen, he found his father wielding a rolling pin like a club before a towering mound of fur.

“Father, this is Mard!” Gasc cried. “He saved your life.”

Mard sighed a cavernous noise, holding great paws out to either side.

“This beast?” Eugene growled, legs shaking. “There’s no reason for any of this. It’s all just chaos. And was that otherworldly beast from your world as well?”

“For that I must apologize,” Mard sighed. “It may’ve been sent by the demon god who cursed me.”

“Demons? Well, you’ll not find shelter here!”

A knock came at the main door downstairs. Gasc trotted down to see who it was, finding Adara the merchant joined by Eugene’s whole congregation. For once their eyes were warm and glad, bearing bags and glittering valuables. Adara’s green eyes shone brighter than all the rest.

“I’ve come to make a donation,” Adara jingled a sack of coin before Gasc. “And so have the rest of these folk, for saving the city from that monster. Seems their prayers were answered.”

“Father!” Gasc called up the stairs. “I think you’re going to like this.”

Behind the crowd of well-wishers, Gasc spotted the remains of the beast from the river. Its flesh had melted into the shore, and its skeleton laid half-dissolved like gelatin. Professors from the university across the canal studied the parts as beggars milled in the river’s waters. Gasc squinted to see what the beggars stuffed into buckets: pale, squirming worms that resembled tentacles from the beast.

[almorrall]

Publication Update!

Blood dripping Thriller Night now on Amazon!

Also, a second edition of my novel Crimson on Amazon! Read for an all-new ending!

Thriller Night https://a.co/d/fzbNUdL

Crimson 2nd edition: https://a.co/d/8PnpuBd

Emerald Dreams story collection: https://a.co/d/3m5ifNq

Tales From the Ridge story collection: https://a.co/d/c7aE2EX

The Stable Girl publication: https://martinmatthewswrites.com/ansible

A New Home publication: http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue929/new_home.html

Wheel of Fire publication:

http://www.cornerbarmagazine.com/index.html. vol 8 issue 6

[almorrall]

A New Home

Paru set foot on the surface of a new world, a companion padding at her side. Robotic limbs worked in seamless unity, achieving quadrupedal mastery over rough, rocky terrain. His owner’s treaded boots had far less success, disturbing rocks as she cursed in vain. The science team would not be happy. She picked her way across the low gravity environment of Fornacis Twenty-two. It was a planet that orbited a solar twin, merely forty-two light years from Earth. Here, Paru hoped to make a fresh start for her people, refugees of space, pursued by the empire and other, crueler creatures.

            “We still haven’t finished scanning the surrounding area,” Executive Officer Kira chimed in Paru’s helmet.

            “We’ve been travelling for thirty-one years,” Paru returned. “I needed some… fresh air.” She laughed at the thought, looking up at the stars that shone through the planet’s thin atmosphere, incapable of providing enough oxygen for respiration.

            “This is no time for jokes,” Kira berated. “There could be Chaff out there.”

            “They couldn’t have followed us this far,” Paru dismissed the notion. Mention of their cursed name sent a chill through her spine. “None of the probes sent from Earth had dark matter drives, so none of the Chaff will either. They’ve upgraded themselves significantly since achieving sentience, but none of our analysis indicates they’ve achieved lightspeed travel.”

            “I hope you’re right. That suit is expensive, and so is that canine unit.”

            “That’s enough, XO.” Paru turned off comms, smiling at Lupus. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

When the expeditionary mission set out to find a new planet suitable for colonization, Paru had been thirty-three. Now she was sixty-four, and she felt it. Decades spent in transit thinned her bones, wasted her muscles, and shriveled her lungs. There was no fresh air here, but there was open sky and room to move, comforts not afforded her for so long. Though every crew member tested peak intelligence, wellbeing, and fitness scores, some didn’t survive the voyage. She knew what she signed up for, how unnatural it would be. Stepping foot on this planet, their longed-for destination, was everything to her.

            The captain mounted a low ridge with her robotic canine at her side. Lupus looked up at her with longing. She frowned, knowing he was programmed to live off the needs of humans. Sadly, he would be without purpose if there was no human to serve or protect. Paru was his human, and though he was steel and silicon, she loved him as if he were flesh and bone. His core computer possessed neural receptors analyzed her facial patterns, verbal tones, and emotional output. Stroking his triangular steel head and joined to his ovular body with titanium cables, she felt bound to him, knowing he was a calculated, metal creature. Angling his amorphous nose in several directions at once, Lupus surveyed an uneven landscape. His scans uploaded elements that flowed across her visor: aluminum, nitrogen, iron.

            “Looks like everything we’ll need,” Paru reported back to Kira. “Once we erect habitats, we just might call this place home.”

            “The solar winds of the nearby sun are unsettling, but you could be right.”

            Paru reflected on the voyage. She owed her survival through two attempted mutinies to Kira’s loyalty. Twice her crew demanded they stop when passing potentially habitable planets. Diversions were not part of the mission, so mutineers had been jettisoned into space. Some were close friends, some Paru’s lovers. People got close to her to take control. She’d only enjoyed seeing a few get sucked out into space. Looking at Lupus, she knew her second, Kira, may have kept her alive, but he kept live worth living. Ever close at hand, and always taking her side in arguments. A few mutineers even suffered his titanium bite.

The world they suffered so much for was unremarkable. Maybe there was ice a few klicks down, but it’d take five years for industrial drills to arrive from Tyras. Fornacis Twenty-two was chosen by the Founders, twelve men who left the empire over one thousand years ago. They made a new home on Tyras, where Paru was born. Rare metals were used to construct cities, factories, and new lives. Those same metals brought the Chaff, sentient probes who scoured Canis Major for titanium, iridium, and plutonium. The Outworlders, her people, became refugees again.

Paru missed Tyras, and her mother who pushed her to captain the expedition. When they fled the empire and their colony was founded, women never had such roles. Over centuries they’d risen to govern provinces on Tyras, but no authority could surpass that of the Founders. Though the Founders were long dead, their consciousnesses ruled still from the Mindbank, summoned each month to give them direction. Supposedly, their faculties had not degraded.

Continuing her observation, she climbed a hill to scan the nearby chasm. Twelve klicks deep, it would offer vast geological data for Lupus. Once again, he mounted the razor-edged rocks with ease. A snake-like tongue filled with sensors lolled as he looked back at her. Paru grunted, forcing atrophied legs to conquer the hill, gazing up at an ocean of stars. The galaxy opened wide before her, termed the Inner Ring, but still well outside empire space. Missing a foothold, Lupus looked to her again, sensors whirring.

From their high vantage point they peered down into the mirrored blackness of the chasm below. Lupus sat back on carbon fiber haunches, jaw closed, ears pricked and eyes forward to absorb his surroundings. It was silent, silent as death and the vacuum of space as Paru sat, eyes to the stars once more and dreamed of a field of habitats covering the plain below.

A great whistling rose from the canyon and Paru’s boots lifted off the ground. Lupus was at her side in an instant, clamping his legs over her ankles so that she did not drift up. Stones began to hover, and a terrible crash echoed as a rockslide poured into the chasm. Light pierced Paru’s visor as heat baked her suit. Musky light washed over the sky and Paru’s frame rattled as she gripped the rocks below, praying she was not launched over the chasm. Lupus set his jaws over her leg, gently holding on as she sailed in the wind.

Moments later it passed and Paru drifted back to sit, breathing in ragged gasps.

“Capt-n!” Kira garbled over the comms. “That flare came out of no- be more coming. You need- get back- ship now.”

“Kira,” Paru shook her head, buzzing with static, hand resting on Lupus’ neck. “Lupus needs to complete his scan. If that chasm fills with rock, we’ll lose years of data.” She looked to the robotic canine and nodded. Lupus whimpered as he sat back, ears up again.

Paru watched the elements flash over her eyes, but when they came to completion breath froze in her throat: Plutonium, iridium, and titanium.

“Scan complete. Returning to ship.”

Paru turned to make her way back down the hill, Lupus at her side. This time he wouldn’t go first but followed her descent. Another tremor shook the hill. Lupus bolted forward, planting firm legs to make sure Paru did not tumble down. Once it abated, they continued, descending the hill. Returning her gaze to the stars above, Paru felt dread where she once felt wonder. At the edge of the known galaxy, everything was dangerous.

They crossed the craggy plain, ship now in sight. Returning to its steely confines was becoming more and more appealing as they closed the distance.

“We see you, Paru,” Kira spoke. “Almost there. Did you sustain any damage?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. Lupus kept me from a spill into the black.”

“He deserves a promotion. Or at least an oil bath.”

The boarding platform lowered and as they crossed the last ten meters, Lupus stopped. Paru looked over her shoulder to see him poised before a mound of rock.

“Lupus,” she sighed. “The mission is over. We’ve scanned enough...”

From behind the mound slithered a glossy dome, erected on six clawed appendages. Swaying like a cobra, the creature approached Lupus, who stood his ground. He issued a grating of gears that could be considered a growl.

“Chaff sighted!” Paru called. “SecTeam…”

Balling its appendages like a spring, the Chaff hurtled toward Lupus. His jaws gained no purchased on the dome but managed to clamp a tentacle. Titanium fangs tore through, before other limbs wrapped around his neck. With sinister speed and force, its tentacles wrapped around Lupus’s neck. He threw his body against rocks to damage the creature.

“Lupus! Stop!” Paru cried, drawing a plasma pistol, and levelling it on the attacker. It shifted back and forth as her canine fought, giving no clear shot.

Behind her she heard the booted feet of her crew, shouts raised, and pistols charging.

“Back,” she ordered. “Hold your fire. We can’t damage Lupus. His data…”

A claw raked Lupus’ head, tearing out an eye and prompting a moan. The tentacles exposed barbed spines on rotors that sawed into Lupus’ carbon fiber body.

“Lupus,” Paru sobbed, mist filling her visor, “be still.”

The canine stopped struggling, and the attacker hooked two claws under his headplate, tearing it open to reveal circuits and couplings. Paru shuddered, firing a plasma blast into the creature. It rebounded off Lupus to splay out like a beached jellyfish. Its tentacles jerked once but came to rest.

Paru knelt at Lupus’ side, wrapping her arms over his scarred back. She looked into his one crimson eye as it flickered. After a moment its light went out completely.

“Captain!” came Kira’s cry.

            She heard it first, a sickening tear and smell of steel. Her senses exploded into white-hot agony. Her head fell back, staring into the reflective surface of the Chaff’s dome. Plasma fire erupted, leaving more holes, until it shriveled like a spider.

#

As soon as Paru’s comm went dead, Kira ordered for her to be brought to the infirmary, and SecTeam was dispatched to inspect the ship for more stowaways. Kira stayed by Paru’s side for three hours but her eyes never so much as fluttered. SecTeam’s reported no further Chaff but did confirm it’d stowed away amongst crates of freeze-dried food in the cargo hold.

Once they’d been gathered, Kira addressed key crew from Paru’s bedside. Their captain hadn’t stabilized and soon would slip away. Later they’d call Kira brilliant for doing what she did in such desperation. It was a procedure the onboard technicians rejected, but Kira pressed. The operation would surely kill Paru, but the alternative was for her to be lost forever. Against all odds they succeeded. Paru’s consciousness was uploaded to the ship computer while her brain still hummed with low activity.

While Paru was under the knife, Lupus’s data was uploaded as well. Analysis showed Fornacis Twenty-two had everything the Outworlders needed to maintain habitats, so long as no more Chaff appeared. Kira wondered if any more stowaways would accompany the colony ships when they arrived in two years. For now, they’d establish Outworld’s first new colony in centuries.

Engineers pulled all-nighters for a week to repair Lupus. Despite their efforts, his CPU remained compromised from the Chaff attack. Kira had an idea for this. After summoning Paru’s consciousness from the Mindbank, they debated for hours in the captain’s quarters. Finally, they agreed, though the crew was not consulted.

On her first trek to the chasm, Captain Kira was joined by Paru, who padded alongside her on all fours. Paru’s limbs had no trouble navigating the terrain this time, and she was first to mount the hill. As Kira struggled, Paru looked back with a smiling canine face. She would miss Lupus, but now he would always be with her, and she was happy to have a new home as well.

[almorrall]

Northstar

Paru walked the lengths of the steel and polycarbonate habitats being erected by engineers and laborers. It reminded her of a grand camping expedition, and in a way it was. But this was a vacation meant to last. This new, desolate, craggy world was to be their home for centuries. Just as Tyras had been for them on the edges of the Milky Way, this New Tyras would suit with its elements and minerals essential to life.

            What was more, New Tyras possessed those rare metals that made development of advanced technologies possible. They could construct new drones, new research equipment and new bodies like the one Paru inhabited. She glanced down at her titanium paws sometimes, expecting to see boots. The first few dozen times had been a shock, but after years inside the robotic skeleton, she’d grown to see its advantages. Her old body was frail, mortal. Steel lived on.

            It was fortuitous, for in her old state the former captain would’ve become a liability. Now her intelligence was able to live on in this body, one that resembled a cybernetic canine. A lithe figure in neoprene-coated nylon bent to investigate Paru’s reflective faceplate, extending a gloved hand. If Paru had been a real canine, the human might have scratched behind her ear. Instead, she inserted a computer chip. Waves of information flowed through Paru’s senses and in moments she absorbed hours of readings from the data-mining apparatus.

The human was Kira and she bore the title of captain now, once Paru’s Executive Officer. It hadn’t seemed fitting that the forward colony ship take orders from a robotic canine, and it was Kira’s time to ascend. Paru felt better in her advisory role and was still able to communicate her thoughts to Kira. The messages were spoken in a translator voice in a comm-link embedded in Kira’s helmet. Adjusting to the role at such a crucial time as colonization had been difficult, but Kira handled it well.

Nearly a hundred small, simple habitats were erected. Just in time to witness the arrival of Leviathan. That day had been scheduled and planned for, and yet, when the world ship appeared overhead, they were daunted. Kira watched in awe, as Paru sat on her haunches, flicking an ear, and feeling a growl within her stir. Hours later, Leviathan’s colonists stepped foot on the surface of their new home, some running or jumping in the low gravity, filling the comms with jubilant chatter.

Each of them saluted Kira and Paru, some falling to their knees and saying prayers. The captain and her new XO pushed past starstruck colonists to climb a gargantuan main ramp. Entering the Leviathan, they were greeted by the world ship’s officers. First order of business was a debriefing with the Founders, as Kira and Paru were brought to a round chamber, flanked by six digital displays. The faces of aged, gaunt men appeared before them, a white-bearded man at their center.

“Captain Paru, this new body you’ve co-opted for yourself is quite unsettling,” Founder Fergus began.

“I am XO now,” Paru’s robotic voice spoke. “Kira is captain. I trust you received our reports.”

“Yes, but such a decision was rash considering you still live. Captaining an expedition such as this, like no man has undertaken in Outworld’s history is unprecedented.”

“Or woman,” Kira corrected, standing firm at Paru’s side.

“Yes,” Fergus grunted. “So, it’s Captain Kira, now? Well, I must say you’re qualified. It’s only that our decision to nominate Paru was reached after much deliberation.”

“She is up to the task,” said Paru.

“No doubt. As you know, we reserve the sole right to promote or demote at will. And now that we are here, we shall re-evaluate our options.”

Kira and Paru exchanged wary glances.

“At any rate,” Fergus continued. “As you are aware, the Chaff stowed away on your ship, emerging to attack Paru’s body. I commend your quick-thinking and experimental success in transplanting her mind. I do not blame you for the Chaff infiltration. Your ship was thoroughly checked, but it seems they’ve ways of concealing themselves. In addition, it seems they’ve dissected magnetic flight engines from space debris circling New Tyras. It’s given them the abilities of levitation and locomotion through space.”

“There are more Chaff?” Kira asked.

“Yes, it would seem they’ve taken orbit around this planet. We fought off a few of them before entering atmosphere.”

“If they can avoid detection, it’s possible this ship has been infiltrated as well?” Paru wondered.

“Yes, it’s possible.”

“Founder!” chimed a communications officer from the side of the chamber. “We’ve completed scans of the Leviathan. There are indeed Chaff onboard.”

“That didn’t take long,” Kira snapped. “You didn’t think to scan before you brought Chaff to the surface of New Tyras? This was supposed to be our new home away from those creatures.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Fergus barked. “The longer we stayed in orbit or airborne, the more Chaff would’ve attacked. Where is the Chaff now?”

The comm officer bowed, “Founder, they’ve been detected in the engine room.”

“The engine room? They’ll tear it apart looking for rare metals and energy cells. Dispatch SecTeam at once.”

Kira and Paru were brought to the household leaders of each Tyran faction granted separate sections of the new planet to colonize. It was the equivalent of signing autographs and each wanted to appeal to the famed “First Boots on New Tyras.” The factions ranged from ultra nationalist Founder-worshippers, and Ancient Earth loyalists to cultists obsessed with the Chaff hivemind. Paru had once known and loved such a cultist. His name was Tony Andruzzi, and he’d been her navigator when she was a mere mining captain. He worshipped the Chaff right up until the sentient probes killed him.

After signing half a hundred verbal and physical autographs: hugs, smiles, winks, nods, Kira and Paru were summoned back to address Founder Fergus. The talking Founder heads spat at each other, riling in disagreement about how to proceed with the worst disaster they could’ve imagined. Chaff, those all-consuming robotic life forms that drove them from their home world, had followed them halfway across the galaxy. Finally, Fergus demanded quiet and looked to them.

“Captain Kira and XO Paru, we thank you for delivering us New Tyras. However, we must ask that you assist us one last time before your mission is complete. Seeing as how you have the most experience with Chaff of anyone alive, you have been selected to lead a team to eradicate the Chaff presence. Our Artificial Intelligence navigator has been reawakened to determine exactly when the Chaff slipped onboard. He shall assist you in locating and destroying them.”

“Who is this AI navigator?” Paru asked.

“He is called Northstar. Though I believe you knew him as Tony.”

“I had no idea. Why was this not relayed to me?”

“Communications must be used sparingly across lightyears. Northstar served us well in navigating the many disruptive debris fields and phenomena on our way here. He is as much to thank as you for clearing the way. And he is no stranger to Chaff, or Chaff psychic communication patterns. Therefore, he is the perfect companion to assist you in finishing them off.”

“Hello, Paru,” said a voice, hypnotic and cold, but not unlike her own translator.

“Tony,” she whispered.

***

Captain Kira led twenty SecTeam marines bearing assault rifles down the elevator that would take them to the engine room. The Leviathan was kilometers long, and its engine room was a world unto itself. It’d take hours, perhaps days, to search for all the Chaff. Especially, when they were little different from most of the objects located in the engine room. Spinning, whirring, and clicking, they were basically flying engines themselves, ones with razor-sharp tentacles.

“Thought I’d earned myself a good rest,” Northstar’s voice took on a pained expression.

“I didn’t think AI got tired,” said Kira.

“I don’t,” Paru chimed. “And I’ve got a body. Have you got one, Tony?”

“Tony had a body. I am Northstar. And no, I do not. Sadly. If I did, I’d give you a big hug, cap.”

“That was inappropriate then, and equally so now.”

“Never stopped us.”

“That’s one sexy operating system,” Kira laughed.

“I’m not even a captain anymore,” Paru growled. A marine looked over his shoulder, thinking she’d gone rabid.

“Look at us, cap. You’re a dog and I’m a voice. How far we’ve fallen, eh? Whatever happened to the good old days?”

“Quite the nostalgic AI, I must say,” Kira offered.

“Hey, I was once human, and so was Paru. Never forget that. In addition to her canine programming.”

“How’d you know about that?” Paru asked.

“Oh, didn’t Fergus tell you? I can sense these things.”

“The canine programming was intentional, to make this form the perfect companion.”

“And you certainly are,” Kira chuckled, almost bending to scratch beneath Paru’s chin but reconsidering.

“You’ve arrived,” Northstar announced, adding an elevator ding noise.

The platform came to a rest, its bay doors opening to reveal a chamber two hundred meters across and five hundred meters deep. Marines switched on flashlights, levelling rifles at the darkness that loomed. Kira stepped forward, flicking a spotlight on her helmet. It burst through steam, strange gasses and what they smelled to be smoke. Paru clopped forward and marines advanced on either side of her. The elevator door slammed like a guillotine behind them.

“Sorry, can’t afford any Chaff to escape,” Northstar explained. Kira gritted her teeth while marines shifted in their boots. Paru sniffed the air, her highly-advanced nose scrambling to detect the myriad of scents beyond. “As the Founders, and many faction leaders are deeply religious, the Leviathan is indeed shaped like a great whale. This is the belly, the guts, the gusto.”

“A little more scientific, please?” Paru asked.

“Well, there were fifty engineers down here but currently I detect zero human life forms.”

“So, they’ve all been killed?” Kira hissed, drawing concerned glances from her marines.

“Can’t say. But the Chaff are here, that is certain. A cluster of them should be about seventy yards directly ahead. They’re having a field day with all the materials to feast on, upgrading themselves at a crazed rate.”

“Hey, are you on our side?”

“Of course. Here’s a show of support.” Overhead lights flickered on, shining down on the cavern ahead. Great turbines were illuminated, control panels torn open and oil barrels torn asunder. Bolts, chips, and wiring covered the floor. Kira and her marines moved forward, as Paru took up the rear. Kira’s spotlight poured over the ruined machinery, as clicking, and snapping noises rattled from the shadows. She bent to touch a mysterious liquid pooling on the floor.

Paru’s heightened hearing detected a scraping sound to their east and she whirled, facing a creature that rose on two feet. An engineer faced her, but as she regarded its body she convulsed. A bark rose in her throat, as her companions turned and screamed. The engineer’s face was melted like a candle, drooping down its shoulder. An eyeball reduced to green goo pulsed something wet and sickly. One arm ended not in fingers but coiled titanium tentacles. These were familiar, Chaff parts, and the human-robot hybrid lashed the tentacles at her.

She’d already lost one body to these creatures and only recently had she come to appreciate this one. Paru sprung backwards, as rifle fire erupted, spraying the abomination with plasma. As they tore through the creature, it let out a horrific screech that somehow sounded relieved. Bubbling liquid, like what Kira touched, poured from its gunshot wounds. As more plasma filled it, finally its abdomen burst in a wave of acid that flowed toward them. Marines howled into the cavernous chamber as it consumed their legs.

More abominations appeared, leering at the SecTeam from every angle. They stalked steadily forward and now the marines were hesitant to open fire. Kira bade them do so, but they waited until the creatures were too close. When they finally did fire, acidic blood splashed back on the marines, melting their weapons and flesh. Paru called out to Tony, yelping into the darkness of the hellish engine room. It seemed they’d been led to their deaths, and there was no response.

“To the elevator!” Kira cried, gathering her marines, and charging across the cavern.

Tentacles lashed down from the ceiling, picking marines up by their shoulders and ripping them apart or flinging them into pitch black. When more abominations blocked their path, Kira simply bashed their bulbous heads with the butt of her rifle and kept running. The marines behind her followed suit, and Paru deftly avoided their reaching hands and tentacles. She knew their acid would melt her steel almost as easily as it had human flesh. Whoever engineered these beasts was a true master of horror.

“Tony!” she yelped. “Did you lead us down here to die?”

“There’s no Tony. Only Northstar.”

They reached the elevator bay, and Kira slammed on the button to open the door. Marines turned back to the surging horde of abominations. Creatures more machine than man rose next, ten feet high, with crocodile jaws built from serrated escape pods. Lumbering toward them, the cavern shook, and the marines raised voices for their savior. Kira mashed the button, as if it might do something. Paru knew it was no use. They were flies in the hands of a wanton boy.

“Northstar, listen to me,” she said. “If you ever loved me, you’d let us free. I know you remember it. The times we used to have. It wasn’t all lust, all bodies lying in heat. We joined our minds too; our feelings are bound. I know you feel it too. We can have that again. We’re nothing more than sparks in plastic tubing. None of that has changed. We can be one again. Let us out of here and let us reunite. I know your consciousness is stored somewhere. Take me to it.”

Kira looked to Paru, hearing her solemn confession and appeal to the cold, unfeeling Northstar. What good would it do? Monsters of metal and flesh stalked toward them. Rifles fired, smoke stinging their eyes, acid dissolving the grated floor. A clawed hand smacked down on Kira’s helmet, crushing her spotlight. All turned to black. Death cries sounded and the gnashing of teeth was all. Paru dragged Kira by the pant leg, away from the clamping jaws.

There was a release of steam, and the elevator doors opened. Paru, Kira and a handful of marines scrambled onto the platform as it lurched upward. Those left behind howled up the shaft as they were consumed. The men looked to their captain and XO, unable to form words. Halfway up the shaft, the platform stopped, and a door opened. Kira huddled with her marines, tears streaking down her face. Paru stepped out, reading a sign that read, “Core computers.”

The robotic canine padded down the hall until she reached a series of tall, translucent tubes. She made her way along, reading every terminal’s label. Finally, she found one marked, “Northstar.” An interface existed for entry of a skeleton key drive. Paru planted her paws on the tube, rising on two feet, and extended her head. A conical tongue extended and morphed to fit the drive input hole. She inserted her tongue, eyes reeling back as the exchange of information nearly overwhelmed her.

***

Paru returned to Kira and the four marines, nodding to them slightly. They rode the elevator back up to the control room. From there, the marines were seen to by medics but Kira and Paru returned to the Founders’ chamber. The talking heads were summoned once more, and Fergus glared down like a parent summoned from sleep, white beard bristling. Paru sensed in his eyes he didn’t expect them to return, and possibly, this upset him.

“Northstar has been erased,” she said.

“What?” Fergus demanded as the other Founders launched into startled accusations. “How? Why?”

“He attempted to kill us. Sixteen marines died down there. The Chaff have been experimenting on our engineers, creating abominations. And you knew about this. It’s been going on for months at least.”

“Preposterous!”

“Before I deleted Northstar’s memory, I uploaded it into my own. I’ve got the Chaff’s psionic beacon inside me now. And all the star maps needed to get you back home or anywhere else in the galaxy. If you need a navigator, it’ll be me. And if you need someone to talk to the Chaff, that’ll be me too. It can’t be left to anyone else. Their presence is too corrupting, and if anything, I’ve shown I can resist it.”

Fergus said nothing and the other Founders silenced as well. Kira looked to Paru, eyes wide, face paper-white.

“If you refuse me as navigator, try to have me wiped or my memory transferred, I’ll summon every Chaff to this planet. And there’s a lot of them out there.”

Fergus flinched, but he made no argument.

“Now, we’ve got scanning to do.”

[almorrall]

The Stable Girl    

Night drove like a dagger deep into the heart of the sun-blessed land of everlasting summer.  Darkness stole across copses of pines, green hills, and lakes deep as time.  The beasts of the land knew it best, stealing away to burrows and dens that would see them through till morning.  When daytime’s warmth faded from the forests of Kemp, human minds were left longing. They searched for something to make them whole: closeness of kinfolk, a lover’s touch, or a sweet libation. All three could be found in Arden Hall, principal tavern, and inn of the selfsame village on the kingdom’s frontier.  Not far away was Scarlet River, the natural border that separated them from the cold northlands beyond.

            Hunters, farmers, fur traders, and lumberjacks came from across the western lakelands to convene under the watchful gaze of Innkeeper Pious.  A devout follower of the Lily Maid, Pious only permitted respectful speech regarding Kemp’s goddess within his hall.  Pious made sure every meal and drink passing through his hall was properly blessed by the Lily Maid before it was served.  The village abbot who made sure of this. He had no temple for his flock but treated Arden Hall almost as such. Ever present on Frigg’s Eve, the abbot muttered a prayer before raising his flagon to Pious from the end of the bar.

            “A typical Frigg’s Eve, eh Pious?” grinned the abbot.

“With a typical turnout,” the innkeep sighed, approaching. “I see the rangers turned in an hour early from their patrols to grab an ale.”

“No one’s worried about the roads leading into Arden, not in high summer,” the abbot laughed. “Every villager knows northmen raid in early spring, not fearing the cold but avoiding the heat. Marching in their shells of iron like great machines, so unnatural… Their bodies turn to ovens in high summer.”

  Pious nodded, but still unconvinced this was enough reason for border rangers to shirk patrol duties. A chill swept through the inn as six men under heavy black cloaks piled in. Villagers parted, offering odd glances at the strangers as they stalked toward the bar, throwing off hoods. A man with long grey locks spilling over broad, thin shoulders leaned toward Pious.  One cheekbone was crossed with a scar and though he looked to be fifty, pale blue eyes still gleamed of youth.  He laid a doeskin glove on the bar and left twelve gold lilies. Pious and the abbot’s eyes locked on the fire-lit coins.

“Six Deerpeak Lagers,” he said, turning back to his men.

“Pardon, sir, but we don’t carry Deerpeak,” Pious went on polishing a flagon.

“What kind of backwater is this?” the grey-hair demanded.

“Arden, sir,” said the abbot, extending a wrinkled hand. “I am its abbot, a pleasure.”

The grey-hair looked down his hawk’s nose at the abbot, pulling one lip back to reveal yellow teeth, one of them gold. “Raven’s Hill Rieslings then. Right, boys?” he looked to his five men who slapped their gloves on the bar, howling like wolves.

“Pardon, but we don’t have that either.”

At the far corner of the tavern, sat a girl of fifteen years, golden curls bound beneath a brown kerchief.  She wore the simple garb of a stable girl: mud-stained tunic, wool leggings, and leather boots. Beneath her tunic, however, lay something no stable girl carried in all the kingdom of Kemp.  Its cold steel pressed against her abdomen, tucked under her belt. Beside her were two grimy stable boys, her escorts through this border land that seemed lawless and wild beyond measure.  She listened to the words of the grey-hair and watched the innkeeper’s reactions. Pious would not pay the grey-hair the deference he seemed to be owed.  One of her escorts leaned close, his lips almost touching her ear.

“The grey-hair may be the man you seek,” whispered the dark-haired stable boy, catching a hint of her lavender perfume.

“Observant for a stable boy,” she grinned. “Perhaps you deserve a raise, Rem.”

“If he gets a raise, I get one too,” the second, light-haired boy squirmed in his seat.

“Prove yourself brave and loyal, Lake,” she said, “And my father will hear of it.”

“Kaelyn, do you want your father to hear of any of this?” Rem whispered.

Kaelyn shook her head, almost spilling a golden curl before resigning to a sigh and waiting for events to unfold.

“What do you have then?” the grey-hair demanded of Pious.

“We have the house ale, I brewed it myself, and gutdrink.”

“Six ales and six gutdrinks then,” the grey-hair narrowed blue eyes. “This ale better not taste like piss.”

“Look at him,” laughed one of his black cloaks. “Look at his face, it’s going to.”

“Why don’t we just burn this place to the ground?” asked a second black cloak. “They’re not doing the locals any favors by serving swill. Your king would not approve.”

The innkeeper poured them their drinks, gathered up their coin, then moved to the bar’s rear, descending some stairs to visit its wine cellar.

“His Majesty drinks only mushroom grog,” the grey-hair blurted out, “to keep his mind erased. He cannot face what the world’s become: a world where northmen take our daughters every spring, a world where his goddess grows old, a world where I am Kemp’s true king.”

“Our goddess does not grow old,” the abbot spoke up. “She is as the sun, eternal.”

“Twenty-five years ago,” the grey-hair’s eyes flashed, “I saw the goddess in the Wilderwood. She was alive then, young as morning, her skin iridescent, eyes like emeralds, hair like melted gold.  My patrol needed water and I stumbled upon her pool.”

“No man is permitted to enter the Wilderwood!” cried the abbot, slamming his empty flagon.

“How I wanted her,” grey-hair continued, “how any man would have. I hunted for years. Never would I see her again. Tales of that fool-king hearing her words are all lies. To think he claimed to share her bed. If His Majesty knew the goddess’s will, our lands would still shine like gold. Wilderwood beasts would not snatch young from the heartland, black omens would not spill over the mountains and northmen would not plague our coasts and rivers. No one knows the goddess’s wishes, and no one knows how to return our land from ruin. Least of all the king.”

“I suppose you do then?” asked the abbot.

The grey-hair kept his eyes trained on the abbot but leaned back on his stool and flicked a finger to one of his men.  Standing, the black cloaked man placed a glove on the abbot’s shoulder and pulled him to standing.  Not a word spilled from the abbot’s mouth as he was guided away from the bar and out the front door of Arden Hall into the night.  Returning from the wine cellar with a furrowed brow, Pious looked to the empty spot where his abbot once sat. He frowned deeper as a stable girl of little more than five feet hailed him.

“Is anything amiss, sir?” Kaelyn asked.

“No ‘sir’ is needed, lass, only Pious,” he sighed. “I checked for my barback in the wine cellar but he’s nowhere to be found. Now, I return to see one stranger and my abbot missing all at once. None of this bodes well.”

The five remaining men clinked their gutdrink glasses together and howled, “Raven’s Hill!” before downing them to slap the bar like a drum skin.

“One guess who they are,” Kaelyn raised a gold brow to Pious.

“The Raven’s Hill Gang? In Arden? Not possible,” he dismissed the notion, running a calloused hand through his beard.  “Those damned bandits, it cannot be. They were chased through the mountains by the Lion of Kemp. They would not dare return to this valley.”

Two of the bandits moved to either side of Kaelyn, peering beneath her kerchief to see the splendid hair and lovely face beneath.  Her skin was the color of cream, unblemished by toil, eyes green like sunlit forests.  They did not see the face of a stable girl and so they stayed, leaning on the bar, and tugging her kerchief back. Kaelyn slapped at their hands, pulling away as Rem and Lake arrived, each boy barely older than she.  Reaching for knives, the bandits turned on the stable boys who began to quiver.  Pious slammed a flagon on the bar, catching wild eyes as rough hands turned to fists.

With a great crash, the front door was thrown open, nearly slamming off its hinges. In came a towering bear of a man with shaggy brown hair. A green cloak pinned with the golden lily trailed from wide shoulders, marking him as a ranger. He moved to the bar, cradling a bandit’s head under his armpit. Thankfully for the bandit, his head was still attached to his body, but his captor had no intention of releasing him.  The grey-hair stood at once, recognizing the captive as his sixth man. Blue eyes grew as he looked the bear-like newcomer up and down.

“This man serves Diomedes Greylocke,” growled the green cloak, tightening his grip on the bandit and provoking a yelp.  “The Raven’s Hill Gang has broken the king’s peace for the last time. I’ve come to collect its members for the murder and kidnapping of good Kempish folk.  I’ve chased the snakes through mountain and vale and have reason to suspect Dio might be here.”  The ranger’s dark eyes settled on the grey-hair.

“Barric, the so-called Lion of Kemp,” the grey-hair spat.  “Seems you’ve found me.” He drew a long knife and pointed it at Barric’s barrel chest.  “Men, seize that girl. Peasants, leave!”

Arden Hall’s regulars grumbled as the bandits seized Kaelyn. When her stable boys protested, Rem got a backhand to the jaw, launching him over a table, flipping flagons of ale to spatter the faces of stunned villagers.  Lake grew silent as the second stranger drew a knife and pressed it to Kaelyn’s throat.  The bandits dragged her away, passing stone-faced villagers to cross the tavern and descend the cellar stairs.  Pious dropped his flagon and drew a loaded crossbow from beneath the bar, levelling it at Diomedes and clicking his tongue.  The grey-haired fugitive backed away, keeping the knife and his last three men between them until he reached the end of the bar. They leapt over it and dashed down the cellar stairs.

Kaelyn was brought into the dark and musty cellar, surrounded by kegs of ale and wine.  Finding some space at its rear, the two men found twine to bind her wrists and threw her down on a sack of oats.  She laid back, staring at the rafters as dust hung in a shaft of light illumined as the door above opened and closed to let the rest of the criminals in.  Turning her head, Kaelyn looked through barrels to a mound at the rear of the cellar. There it lay, covered in a wool blanket but betraying the shape of a female form, rising with breath.  A jerk of the head revealed a familiar face to her, eyes bruised, and lip bloodied but still, she would recognize those green eyes anywhere.

Diomedes paced as two of his men held back the door at the top of the stairs. Soon, a tremendous crash shook its hinges.  Blue eyes flared at his men as Dop’s curses flew from his mouth like a sorcerer.  Drawing broadswords, they readied themselves as orders fell like arrows.  Kaelyn closed her eyes, thinking how foolish she had been to come here with only two stable boys for protection. Why had she not sought the Lion of Kemp directly? Her father never would have permitted it. She feared for Rem and Lake, who she had ordered to escort her and hoped they did not prove too brave in her defense. Then a scratching came from the mound of wool and Kaelyn looked back to see the battered, green-eyed prisoner mouthing words to her.

The cellar door burst off its hinges and Barric poured through, kicking the first bandit at the top of the stairs full in the chest. He toppled ten feet down onto a crate of melons that sprayed juice across the cellar’s inhabitants. Driving down the stairs, Barric’s broadsword swept aside the second bandit’s sword and wove back, hilt slamming his throat.  Landing on the cellar floor, the Lion of Kemp parried the sword strokes of two more bandits.  Diomedes yanked Kaelyn up by her golden curls and put a knife at her neck, using her as a shield.  Barric’s eyes burned at Dio through the bandits’ blades.  Kaelyn and the prisoner strained but could not break their bonds.

In that moment of chaos and blood, an idea dawned. Kaelyn wiggled her waist and spread her legs wide to catch a falling object. Raising her hidden dagger, Kaelyn severed the twine on her wrists. She sucked in her breath, as Dio had still not seen her weapon. He wrestled her close and his knife nicked her throat, forcing out a gasp of rage. The only time was now. She jabbed her blue steel dagger at Dio’s hip behind her. He grabbed her hand, but not before her blade pierced his cloak and armor beneath, drawing blood.  Savage growls filled her senses as he convulsed. Looking down, she saw crimson scalemail covered his hip, its surface scalding hot as it pressed against her.

He crushed her wrist in one hand, bending it back to leer into her face.  Dropping from her fingers, the blue steel blade clattered to the floor. Kaelyn kicked, scuttling the dagger through stacks of crates to the cellar’s rear.  Dio swore and grabbed Kaelyn by the neck so that her body blocked Barric’s progress once more. The ranger stood bloodstained and heaving, the last three bandits dead in his wake.

“Release her if you are a man,” Barric seethed, gripping his broadsword in two hands.

Dio laughed, drawing a curved scimitar with a golden hilt.  He brought the sword up over Kaelyn’s body as Barric growled.  Then he threw Kaelyn to the floor and lunged to slash at Barric from on high.  Barric parried the blow, but its strength and speed surprised him.  His fist thrust into Dio’s gut but met unyielding resistance.  Pulling back his hand, Barric grimaced, barely blocking the bandit’s next slash.  Alternating diagonal slices peppered Barric’s blade as Dio pressed the attack.  Kaelyn shook her head, looking up the stairs to see Rem and Lake standing in the doorway. They made their way down, though she motioned for them to scram.  Picking up bandit swords too big for them, the boys waded into combat.

“This is the Lion of Kemp?” Dio howled as he attacked with abandon, ringing around Barric, and taking swipes at the two stable boys as well. Rem and Lake dove away, cowering at the foot of the stairs.

“Face me!” Barric screamed, stalking forward.  He threw off his cloak, revealing silver chainmail that clung to rippling muscles.  Dio grinned, returning to his foe.  Barric battered the scimitar away with each stroke now.  His movements guided by rage, the warrior slammed his broadsword down again and again.  Then he kicked Dio square in the groin and brought his blade across in a horizontal slash fit to tear him in half.  Instead, the blade slammed against Dio’s abdomen but went no further.  Beneath the cloak, Barric saw Dio’s red scale armor now.

“Dragonmail,” he breathed.  Dio cackled, trapping Barric’s blade with his own sword hilt and drawing a knife that he jabbed straight at Barric’s throat.  Barric caught the hand, but surprisingly could not make ground against it.  Dio’s grip was strong as iron, and the knife moved closer. “Impossible,” Barric grunted. “You cannot be this strong.”

“Ah, but I’ve eaten the Fruits of Paradise,” Dio sneered, “stolen from the River’s Mouth.”

Then Barric saw her standing there, her green eyes and long blonde hair unmistakable. She perched just over Dio’s shoulder, before the blue steel dagger’s hilt crashed against the back of his head.  The bandit fell forward, his scimitar flying across the cellar.  Rem yelped, ducking just in time to keep his head.  Barric tore the knife from Dio’s hand, kicking him for good measure. The green-eyed prisoner bound the bandit king’s wrists with rope before bending to help Kaelyn to her feet.

“Sister,” she said to Kaelyn, returning her dagger. “Blessed of you to join us.”

“You’re safe now, Ami,” Kaelyn breathed, embracing her sister.

“My little Kae, how much you’ve grown.”