Oddball, Kentucky. Population: 1,755 souls, and who-knows-how-many monsters. I kill the engine on my battered pickup and grab my rifle. “You got your deodorant on?” Alat nods, then hesitates. “Sure we should be doing this? “Saving innocent townsfolk from terrible beasts?” “That’s a job for the national guard, not traveling salesmen!” I sigh. “I hate to break it to you, son, but our new product line ain’t doing so hot. Without some more investment, we’re broke.” Alat glances at the aerosol spray cans piled in the back—my life savings, gambled on the invention of a crazy hermit. “Maybe we should cut our losses.” I pat his shoulder. “There’s always hope, son. Besides, you think Loula May is cute, don’t you?” Alat chokes at the mention of the Oddball mayor’s daughter. “No! She’s just—” “What?” Alat throws up his hands. “Kind and caring and wonderful in every way, except the ways that are relevant to our situation!” “She’ll look at you differently once you save her from the wolf-squids.” I open the door. “Sally forth!” Alat groans, but he sneaks after me toward the town square. Howls echo in the distance, followed by the slapping of tentacles. My bowels gurgle. Three cans of refried beans before a critical mission wasn’t the best idea, but it was the only food we had. The homes we pass are locked tight—no sign of the evil beasties that terrorize the citizens of Oddball every night. Perhaps they heard us coming and fled. Alat cries out. My gaze follows his pointing finger—straight to the mayor’s house. The busted door to the rear entrance swings crazily on its hinges, and an inhuman shape slinks inside. I charge. A wolf-squid leaps from the shadows and blocks the doorway with a snarl. I fire my rifle, but the beast’s super-fast tentacles whip out and deflect the shot. Something crashes inside the house. A woman’s voice calls for help. “Loula May!” Alat draws his own weapon, a cavalry sword passed down from my grandfather. The wolf-squid leaps. Alat raises his blade and slices through the tentacles as the beast crashes into him and knocks him to the asphalt. Adrenaline surges through my old bones. I leap toward Alat’s prone form. The wolf-squid opens its jaws over my son’s throat. At that moment, my dinner comes due, and the stinkiest fart ever to haunt the streets of Oddball erupts from my behind. The wolf-squid freezes, then whimpers. Its head whips about wildly moments before my rifle hits it. The beast recoils, then screams as Alat stabs it through the heart. I remember one of the legends whispered around Oddball fireplaces late at night— wolf-squids hunt by scent. I have never been more grateful for gastrointestinal distress. I help Alat heave the dying wolf-squid off his chest, then pull him to his feet. “Good work, son. Now let’s go save your girl.” “She’s not my—” A scream. Alat darts forward, and I follow. Loula May wields an oak-handled mop at the entrance to the mayor’s kitchen, standing alone against the wolf-squid crouching in the hall. Tentacle slime makes her weapon glisten as brightly as the legendary sword of King Arthur. I raise my rifle; Alat raises his sword. But before we can strike, Loula May smacks the wolf-squid over the head with her mop. The beast squeals, then turns tail and flees. Loula May turns toward us, half her face aglow with moonlight. She locks eyes with Alat, and they stare silently for a moment. I smile. My son has found true love. “So, we’re, um, trying to save your town.” Alat scratches his head awkwardly. Loula May smiles. “That’s very kind.” “But we have ulterior motives!” Alat blurts. “We, uh, need your father to invest in our business selling Friend Repellant.” I groan. Didn’t that boy learn anything from my stories of how I wooed his mother? Loula May cocks her head. “Really?” “Yeah!” Alat flushes. “It’s not like I cared about saving you or anything, it’s just… we gotta make a profit, you know? So Dad can repay his business loans.” “As you might’ve guessed, my father sleeps like a rock.” Loula May gestures toward the busted doorway. “But you can pitch your business to him in the morning.” I lean against the wall, breathing heavily. Not since Alat’s birth have I had this much excitement crammed into one night. A cacophony of howls echoes in the distance. Loula May tenses. “They’re coming. Help me drag the table out of the kitchen and barricade the door.” “Wait.” Alat touches her shoulder. “If they broke down the door to get in here, that means they’re hungry. If we keep them out of your house, they’ll just hunt down some other innocent victim. We need to stop them for good.” Loula May steps back. Sorrow eclipses her features. “Father tried for years. But no matter how many wolf-squids we killed, more came. All you can do is lock your doors tight and hope they don’t come for you. I learned that the hard way. Everyone in Oddball did.” Alat clenches his fist. More howls, followed by the slapping of tentacles on asphalt. I creep toward the doorway and glance across the town square. Dozens of wolf-squids slink down the street, eyes glowing with bestial hunger. “She’s right, son,” I whisper. “We can’t survive this many. Unless—” The answer dawns on me. There’s one way out— the only way, as sure as Highway 42 is the only way out of Oddball. “Unless we use our product.” “No,” Alat says. “You have to sell that.” “I’ll get it out of the truck,” I say. “You stay here and protect Loula May.” “You can’t go to debtor’s prison, Dad,” Alat stiffens. “Get the truck and get out of here. Find the customers you’ve always dreamed of. I’ll rally the townsfolk. If we stand together, we can—” I grab Alat in a suffocating embrace. “I’m so proud of you.” Then, before he can object, I shove my rifle into his hands and rush into the streets. I creep past the square. Alat fires into the mass of wolf-squids gathering across the street. As one, the pack lets out a spine-chilling howl and charges toward the mayor’s house. The beasties are distracted enough that they won’t notice me unless I fart again. Now, Alat’s fate rests on whether I can retrieve the product before he’s overwhelmed. I reach the truck and throw open the tailgate. Over six hundred cans of Friend Repellant— a truly unique product with no competitors. I know each one of these compressed canisters by heart, having pitched them at sales exhibitions across the country. Today, I’ll finally turn my first profit: 1,755 innocent lives. I throw the key in the ignition and turn it. The engine sputters, then dies. Come on! A second try— and my truck roars to life. I send several trash cans flying as I race through the deserted streets. By now, the avenue leading into the square is so packed with wolf-squids that I can’t see the road. I floor it, hoping to ram through as many as possible, but my tires lose traction on the tentacle slime. The truck spins out of control, hurling me out of my seat. My head cracks against the passenger-side door— then all is still. I groan. A thin trickle of blood runs down my cheek. The window shatters. Tentacles grope at my head. I jerk backward, heart pounding. The wolf-squid shoves its maw into my truck. I fumble in the back seat and manage to grab a canister of Friend Repellant. A tentacle wraps around my arm. I pull the trigger. Aerosolized particles fill the truck cab with a scent orders of magnitude more dreadful than my worst fart. I forget to hold my breath at first, and my nostrils suffer the consequences. The wolf-squid freezes for a moment— then screams. It scrambles backward into the road and runs in circles blindly. I heave open the door, spraying a cloud of Friend Repellant. The other wolf-squids try to flee, but with their dominant sense overwhelmed, most of them stumble into a wall, or tear each other apart in their panic. I grab two fresh cans, reading the flavor labels: Skunk Juice and Rotten Pumpkin. Then I stride forward, wolf-squids parting before me like the Red Sea before Moses. Alat battles heroically across the square. Dead and dying wolf-squids surround him on all sides— but I see the weariness creeping across his face, and a wound mars his shoulder. As his last foe turns tail, he meets my eyes. I smile, and Alat nods in relief. Then he breathes in-- and crumples to the ground, gagging. Loula May beats a hasty retreat inside. A moment later, she re-emerges with a clothespin clamped over her nose. She tosses one to Alat, and another to me. I repay her with a can of Friend Repellant. We spray the entire square while the remaining wolf-squids hobble about randomly. Loula May helps them find their way out of town with a few stout whacks from her mop. For now, at least, Oddball is free of those monsters. Loula May and Alat stand side-by-side, faces flush with triumph and noses pinched. They turn toward each other, making eye contact for a few precious moments. Loula May bursts into a fit of giggles. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s hard to take you seriously with a clothespin on your nose.” Alat chuckles, then walks toward me. “I, uh, guess we’d better get going now. We can’t be late for the next entrepreneurs’ conference. You still have some of the product left. Maybe if we get an investor—” I drink in the sight of the strong young man he’s become, thanking God for his loyalty to me. But I see him cast a final, furtive glance at Loula May, and I know what I have to do. I shake my head. “No. Stay here. Build a life. Don’t be hampered by my foolish ambitions.” “Excuse me,” Loula May says, holding up her canister of Friend Repellant. “This is what you’re trying to sell?” I nod. Loula May laughs. She produces a pen, scratches out ‘friend’, and writes ‘wolf-squid’. “You don’t need investment! Brand it like that, and I can get you 1,755 eager customers.” The End
0 Comments
I phase into the spirit realm, bottled storm in hand. Ethereal mist presses in on me from every direction. Supposedly, ghosts can find their way through it by instinct. Some stay here for decades, unraveling, their fragmented thoughts contributing to the haze.
My Laura wouldn’t do the same. She’ll be at the station, waiting, ready to leave this realm as soon as the train arrives. I have little time to find her. I dash through the fog, ignoring the voices swirling around me. The ghosts mostly ignore me, although some hurl insults when I run through them. After several minutes of desperately scanning the horizon for landmarks, the ghost of a young boy approaches me, only recently dead. His mannerisms are confident, and hauntingly familiar. Where have I seen you before? Then I remember. He stood next to Laura when she died. He, too, faced the glare of the sun on that day, the crack of the firing squad’s rifles. My breath catches in my throat. I couldn’t see her face when she died. Would she have looked at me? Stop that. You’re going to get her back. I focus on another memory—Laura pulling me out of the gutters when I’d lost all hope. The boy folds his arms across his chest. “Are ya lookin’ for the train station?” “Yes—how did you know?” He shrugs. “The wizard sent me.” Grateful for the lead, I follow him to the station. The air here is clear, and the ghosts are mostly intact. They’re all smiling, and some are engaged in cheerful conversation. On the edge of the platform stands Laura, as angelic as the day I first saw her. Her soul shines brightly in a way no amount of damage to her body can dim. She stares into the distance, smiling serenely. I hesitate for a moment, then stride toward her, tightly clutching the storm I purchased from the wizard. She turns her head, her smile banishing the horror that’s haunted me ever since seeing her bloody, broken body. “Daniel!” she exclaims. “You’ve come to say goodbye?” A torrent of emotions swirls within me. I open my mouth and manage to express one of them. “I’m—I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” Laura laughs. “What’s there to be sorry for? I didn’t need you to save me.” I take a deep breath and step forward. “But I will. Laura, I have a plan to bring you back.” I hold out the bottle. Thunder rumbles within it. “This bottle contains a storm that will release enough energy to rip a hole through dimensions—a hole leading to the place where the executioners dump their victims. When I release the storm, you can jump through the hole, and your soul will use the energy to reunite with your body. I’ll follow. We can be together again, Laura.” A shadow crosses her face. Her shoulders slump; her radiant beauty dims. She seems less angelic and more human. “Daniel… I don’t want to go back.” A spike of fear runs through my veins. “What?” “I’m done. I fought the good fight, even to death. God has been faithful through it all, but…” she looks back to the horizon. “He’s finally calling me home, and I’m ready to go.” I reach out a hand, but it passes right through her. “Laura, you can’t go yet. I need you… and the schoolchildren, what will become of them?” “There are other teachers.” Laura rests her incorporeal hand on top of my own. “As for you, you’ve always been too dependent on me. It’s time for you to find your own faith. There is far more of God’s grace than I could ever show you.” A whistle sounds. The train pulls into the station, shaking the ground. The conductor, a rainbow-haired man with a cat perched on his shoulder, calls out the names of the souls. They board one by one. I jump up as Laura’s name is called. She steps on the train, but I rush after her. “Laura, please—” “This is what I want, Daniel.” Her smile is tender, but her eyes are firm. “My journey is over. Yours isn’t.” Panic rises in my chest. “Stop!” She steps deeper into the train, then glances back. “We will meet again, in a better world than this.” Another name is called, but no other soul boards. The boy who guided me to the station waves. “I’ll come next time, conductor.” The conductor gives a thumb’s up, and the train begins to move. I run along the platform, stretching out my hand to touch it, but it evades my grasp. The platform ends, but I’m still running. I trip and fall to the ground, crushing the bottle beneath my hand. Glass cuts into my palm, but the pain is distant, overpowered by the anguish in my heart. Wind howls around me, drowning out the noise of the departing train. Someone grabs onto my coat as a flash of light blinds me. When I open my eyes, I’m kneeling at the edge of a mass grave. The corpses slowly decay in the open air. Laura is on top, staring sightlessly. A scream rises in my chest. I suppress it by punching the ground. This isn’t Laura. I fix the image of the radiant lady in my mind, a sorrowful smile on her face vanishing into the distance. That’s the real Laura, the one who-- Left me. The truth hits me harder than all the energy in a bottled storm ever could. If God used her to save me, why would he take her from me? A hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist. I cry out as a living form crawls from the rotting pile, whole and vibrant. “It worked,” says the boy, grinning. “The wizard was right. My journey’s not over yet, either. Let’s do ours together, in memory of Laura, huh?” *** Resurrection in a Bottle originally appeared in November 2019 through Havok. I released it here as a tribute to my home as I leave for college on the other side of the country. Hundreds of intermeshed triangles emanated from Veyja’s hands, then locked with those of her fellow shieldmages to form a glowing wall. The first wave of scalewolves crashed into the barrier. Blood and spittle sprayed into the air. Veyja winced at the impact, but the wall held firm.
Her hair writhed in response to the danger. It wanted to be used, but Veyja left it covered by her headscarf. Enough of her life had already been ruined by the fear and hatred evoked by her heritage. Veyja pushed an extra surge of energy into the wall as the second wave hit. Arrows soared over her head and rained upon the advancing scalewolves, inducing bloodcurdling howls. Behind her, soldiers scrambled into formation. The hundreds of Third Army shieldmages maintaining the wall would surely be able to hold off the pack long enough for the combat units to deploy. The scalewolves clawed the flesh of their own kind in their frenzy. Veyja fought off nausea at the rising stench of blood. She hated this part. Actually, she hated most parts of being in the middle of a battle. But military service allowed her to support herself and Callie, and the Dizadian custom regarding widows gave her a good excuse to cover her hair. Fangs sunk into her ankle. Veyja cried out, then looked down to see a scalewolf snout penetrating the bottom of her shield. She jerked her leg away, ignoring the pain of ripping flesh. The beast snarled and shoved more of its body through the gap. The angry snarls turned into pained whimpers as water splashed over the scalewolf’s face. A ten-year old girl dumped the rest of her pail onto the breach, dissolving the monster’s flesh. “Callie!” Veyja sent a few more triangles out to repair the gap, then turned to her daughter. “What are you doing here?” “Sorry.” Callie looked sheepishly at her pail. “That was supposed to be for drinking, but…” Dizadian water supplies were too low to be wasted, but Veyja was more concerned about Callie’s presence on the front lines. “I told you to stay in the encampment!” “Commander Tadel said we needed all the help we can—” “Go back, Callie!” Veyja recoiled as another set of scalewolf fangs burst through the wall a few inches from her face. A neighboring shieldmage repelled the scalewolf, then glared at Veyja. “What kind of idiot takes her brat into a war zone? You’re going to get us all killed!” Veyja ignored the barb and concentrated her energy on the wall, generating more triangles to add another few inches of height. Several scalewolves climbed atop the dead bodies of their companions and almost reached high enough to leap over the barrier. “Mama!” Veyja ignored Callie’s hand on her arm. “Get away from here. Now.” “But, Mama, look!” Veyja broke her attention from the wall to follow Callie’s pointing finger. A black specter of death descended on the encampment, and none but her and Callie had yet seen it. The dragon landed softly, a soldier crushed under its talons. Light from the dying sun gleamed off its scales. It ignored the shouting soldiers and eyed the line of unsuspecting shieldmages. Fire issued from its maw. Callie screamed. Veyja grabbed her and dove aside, casting up a shield to deflect the inferno. Many of her fellow shieldmages weren’t as lucky. They fell to the ground and slapped at their burning clothes as the wall disintegrated. Any confidence Veyja might've had shattered before their shrieks of pain. The scalewolves let out a howl of victory and charged over the defunct barrier, showing no mercy to the injured shieldmages. A wave of soldiers met them, while others tried to mob the dragon. Veyja stumbled to her feet, her ankle throbbing. “Run!” Callie obeyed. Veyja found a discarded spear and shoved it into the ground. Not an ideal anchor for a stronger shield, but it would do. She put up the shield and ran after Callie. The dragon moved to block their path. Callie skidded to a stop, a faint whimper escaping her. Veyja threw herself in front of her daughter and met the monster's gaze. The broken bodies of soldiers who had tried to resist it littered the ground. The dragon jabbed a claw downward. Veyja’s hasty attempt at a shield shattered under the impact. A deep rumble—was that laughter?—rose from the monster’s throat. Callie whimpered. The dragon opened its mouth, revealing teeth flecked with blood. Veyja stared at its deep, malevolent eyes, and the screams surrounding her faded. She untied her headscarf. Her hair sprung to life, a writhing mass of snakes that hissed in unison. Power surged through Veyja’s eyes, blazing out of her and entering the dragon. Fire flashed in the dragon’s throat, only to vanish a moment later. The dragon froze in fear, then froze forever. Stone. Veyja held Callie close to her breast. Behind, the scalewolves whimpered at the sight of their petrified champion. Several soldiers let out a rallying cry and charged to finish them off. Veyja wasn’t worried about those. She was worried about the ones who stopped when they saw her, confused about the monster in their midst. Several soldiers formed a ring of bristling weapons around her. Veyja looked up, hoping to show them she was harmless. They recoiled and refused to meet her eyes. Exhaustion overtook her. Veyja sank to the ground, ignoring the sounds of battle and the soldiers arguing about what to do with her. It was all she could do to hold Callie’s trembling form. She ran her hands through Callie’s hair, stopping when she felt something unusual. Scales. The tiny snake wiggled around, disturbed, then coiled up and returned to sleep. Only one so far. The rest would come in time. “I’m sorry, daughter,” Veyja whispered. “You have a long, hard life ahead of you.” I creep down the ancient stone hallway, barely containing my anticipation. Months of tracking down clues, solving riddles and dodging hamster attacks are finally bearing fruit. Beyond the door at the end of the hallway lies the Donut of Time, last breakfast artifact I must recover before I can challenge the Hamsters of Doom and stop them from destroying humanity.
Although I long to finish the quest, I stop and carefully inspect my path for traps. It took all the skills my mentor taught me, and then some, to survive this long. I would be a fool to let some silly mistake ruin my chances—not to mention doom the entire human race to furry annihilation. At last, I reach the door. I draw the Oatmeal Sword, the first artifact I acquired, and shatter the rusted lock with a single blow from its mighty blade. The door creaks. I tense. Every sound since entering the hidden fortress has suggested traps about to crush, burn, or decapitate me. I wait a moment, to make sure I’m not about die, then push the door open. The Donut of Time hovers above a pedestal in the center of the room. Sunlight streams onto its perfectly frosted surface, still deliciously intact after centuries of hiding. But someone has beat me to it. People fill the room wearing bright colors and weird cone-shaped helmets. They raise a shout when they see me. A battle cry? The leader of the crowd charges toward me. I raise my blade, but hesitate. “Sir Doddywink?” My mentor throws his open his arms and grins from ear to ear. “Happy Birthday, Freddie!” Confetti falls from the ceiling. The people cheer. Tables bearing a variety of refreshments surround the Donut of Time. A pile of brightly wrapped gifts rests in a far corner. I turn back to Sir Doddywink. “But I thought you were dead!” My mentor laughs. “The mentor figure dying? Even I wouldn’t do something that clichéd!” I let the Oatmeal Sword drop to the ground. “But the quest… the Hamsters of Doom…” “Well, I needed some way to get you out of town while I prepared your surprise party!” Sir Doddywink tosses his arm over my shoulders. “Come on, join the fun!” I mingle with the partygoers, still processing what just happened. I recognize most of them—friends and family from the village where I grew up. I assumed they had perished when Sir Doddywink, with his ‘dying breath,’ told me hamsters had razed my hometown. After a while, I settle into the party and laugh, despite still shoving down disappointment. Enduring months of relentless running and death-defying danger in order to save the world is one thing, but doing it for a surprise party? I seek out Sir Doddywink. “Okay,” I say, leaning casually on the hilt of the Oatmeal Sword. “I understand how you hid clues in secret chambers all over the world, but one thing still confuses me: Where did you get the hamsters?” Sir Doddywink cocks his head. “What hamsters?” “The ferocious beasts that attacked me at least once a week while I was on my quest! Honestly, that was going a bit too far. Innocent bystanders could have died!” Doddywink freezes. “Hamsters? You’re joking, right? Trying to get back at me for not telling you I knew where the Donut of Time was all along?” Concern grips me. I take the Oatmeal Sword by the hilt. “Are you saying you didn’t send hamsters to attack me?” “No! I would never do that! Besides, the Hamsters of Doom are long gone, if they ever existed in the first place.” The ground shakes. An uneasy murmur spreads throughout the partygoers. Small pebbles rain from the ceiling. An earthquake? “Stay calm!” I yell. Glass shatters. A hulking form blocks out the sunlight. A four-fingered paw reaches through the broken window and claws the ceiling. The building shudders. Before my eyes, the creature rips away the entire roof and tosses it aside like a rag. The screaming begins in earnest. Clearly visible through the gap is yet another horrifying sight, the kind I’ve come to expect weekly by now. A 300-foot tall hamster, fangs dripping saliva, beady eyes gleaming with malicious intent, stares down at us. “I AM FLUFFY, HAMSTER OF DOOM!” The beast roars. “PREPARE TO DIE!” Partygoers scatter in all directions. I remain transfixed by the terrible, yet majestic, sight. Fluffy throws back his head and laughs. A panicking guest crashes into me. I snap out of my trance and dart across the room to grab the Donut of Time. With Donut and Oatmeal in hand, I face my foe. Still chuckling, Fluffy slams down one humongous paw. I raise the Donut and deflect his blow. Fluffy looks down, his cheek pouches expanding in confusion. “I am Freddie, the Warrior of Breakfast!” I shout. “And as long as I stand, you shall not harm a hair on the heads of these innocent people!” Fluffy still looks perplexed. To clarify what’s happening, I stab his paw with the Oatmeal Sword. Fluffy whimpers and sucks on his injured paw. After a moment, his eyes narrow at the source of his pain. He spits out his paw and bellows in rage. “PUNY HUMAN! YOU ONLY INCREASE YOUR SUFFERING WHEN YOU RESIST A HAMSTER OF DOOM!” Fluffy rains down a hail of blows. I duck, spin and leap, deflecting his strikes and getting in a few of my own. His paws bleed from a myriad of wounds. I remain untouched. Fluffy roars again and redoubles his attack. He’s bigger than any hamster I’ve ever fought, but I’m faster and wielding powerful breakfast artifacts. I smile. Maybe I’ll get the birthday party I hoped for after all. The End *** Many years ago, when I was an itty bitty kid, I was playing a game of Risk with my cousin-- until my sister decided to drop a hamster on our board. My armies, about to conquer all of Europe, were pushed off the table and into oblivion. We never got to finish the game, but the idea of hamsters destroying the world has stuck with me ever since. A Fool's Quest originally appeared on Havok in May 2019. I released it for free here as part of my two-week campaign to connect more readers with my writing. If you enjoyed it, read the other stories I've shared on my website, or click the green button in the upper right hand corner to sign up for my email list and get an exclusive free short story, The Besouler. The booming of the tribunal’s drums rivals even that of the cannons firing outside the city walls. That the High Council would go to the trouble of putting on a public trial even while besieged testifies to their displeasure. I don’t think Azer, the judge, has cracked a smile since the war started, but today his face is grim as death.
I, Den Jihro, had an opportunity to rise from my lowly position in the servant class and become one of the most respected members of the city. I destroyed that opportunity—and in the process, doomed my people. Maniare looks at the floor as I’m brought to the witness stand. He hasn’t spoken since the Chamber of Indwelling. If he’s angry at me, he doesn’t let it show. A strange mercy. When I broke into the chamber and interrupted the ceremony, his wrath was the one thing I feared. I don’t care what the Council thinks of me, even if they sentence me to death. But Maniare is more than my brother—he’s my hero. Going to my death with him looking at me as a traitor and a coward is the one fate I can’t bear. Yet, by some cruel twist of fate, his life is the one directly ruined by my crime. The alignment of stars has passed, and the indwelling ceremony cannot be performed for another five hundred years. Maniare will die long before he gets another chance to become the Reborn Warrior. Without him to lead them, our city will fall before the conquerors from the south. The days of heroic stands against dark forces are over. Azer reads the charges against me: breaking into a sacred chamber, interrupting the sacred ceremony. A desperate laugh rises from my throat as he describes the holiness of the rites of indwelling. I hold my tongue, though. I’ll get my chance to speak, however brief it may be. The four priests who were to perform the ceremony come to testify against me. Maniare remains on the bench, clenching and unclenching his fists. At last, it’s time for me give my defense. To explain why I betrayed the very city that gave me an opportunity to rise above my lowly birth. I take a deep breath. “I only desire the best for my city. But the Reborn Warrior cannot and will not save us.” A gasp runs throughout the crowd. “Read the histories!” I cry. “There is not one mention of the Reborn Warrior is any of them! He is a myth, an invention by the Council intended to help them stay in power!” Azer sighs. He doesn’t look angry despite my accusations, only resigned. “The defendant adds slander of the High Council to his list of offenses.” The crowd begins shouting, but Azer quells them with a wave of his hand. “Let him speak. Let him speak! Tell me, Den, why you interrupted the ceremony when you knew that this city, which you claim to love, was entirely dependent on its completion for salvation?” “Centuries ago, our ancestors defeated the dark powers and banished them to the stars!” I gesture upward. “The evil spirits vowed to return, and they almost did, through the lie of the Reborn Warrior!” A furious roar spreads throughout the crowd. Their hatred contrasts starkly with the respect I received as brother to the future Reborn Warrior. Azer signals the guards to calm them. For the first time, I see something other than a grim stoicism in his face. He’s unsettled. Could he possibly believe me? Azer announces my sentence. “Den Jihro, you have doomed your people to die by a foreigner’s blade. Therefore, you shall be the first to do so. Armed with a small knife, you will defend the gate until the city falls." The guards take me away by a back route to avoid the crowd. The gate shudders as cannon fire thuds into it. The warped iron bars holding it in place will soon give way. The guards retreat to more defensible positions as I resolve to meet my fate. Having done all I can for my people, I hold my knife in front of me, ready for the inevitable fall of the gate. A hand lands on my shoulder. I look up to see Maniare’s face as he speaks to me for the first time in days. “I believe you.” I start. “What?” “When I was in that chamber, I felt something else there with me. Other than the priests. Something evil. Old, intelligent, and evil. I tried to tell them to stop the ceremony, but my tongue was frozen.” Maniare lays a bag down at his side. From it he pulls a leather jerkin. Not the best armor, but suitable. Next comes a narrow sword, which he puts in my hand. I glance around. No one has stayed to make sure my punishment is carried out. “So… does this mean I’m not going to die?” Maniare cocks his head. “Oh no, they’re still going to kill us. But we’ll give them a proper fight before they do.” “Us?” He draws his own blade and stands beside me in a classic two-person fighting stance. “You remember what I taught you?” I nod. Countless days of training return to my mind, sore muscles and aching bones made worthwhile by the knowledge that I had my brother’s approval. Now I’m at peace with my crime for the same reason. Maniare turns back to me. “Look, Den. We can recover from anything the conquerors throw at us. But dark powers from another age… You did the right thing. I don’t want you to die… without knowing that.” I nod again, then wrap my arms around Maniare in a sudden embrace. He’s still for a second, then breaks away. Without a word, we assume battle positions. Two brothers, alone, against the most powerful army in the world. The gate shudders once more, then breaks off its hinges and falls. The End *** Sealed Fate originally appeared on Havok in May 2019. I hope that this story will inspire you to focus on your love for others in situations when the world is disintegrating around you. If you think anyone else would find joy or encouragement from this story, please, share it with them. The beat of war drums drives any notion of rest from my bones. I gird on my legendary sword, Jimmy Bob, and stride out of my tent to give my troops an inspiring speech before the battle. Across the torchlit river, the enemy army lurks, human troops intermixed with monstrous daemons summoned from the underworld. Their leader may concoct devious schemes, but his fell words could never inspire soldiers to glorious victory.
My wife, Lydia, joins me as I walk towards the center of camp, keeping pace with me despite my longer stride. “We don’t have enough food for an extended campaign." “Good thing I have you to worry about it for me, then.” Although an excellent quartermaster, Lydia tends to focus on the right things at the wrong time. Tonight, legends will be born. Tonight, the army I raised will strike our first blow against the forces of King Snakbron, the tyrant who threatens to enslave our people. “Besides,” Lydia continues, “you’re old.” Blast. Wrong thing and wrong time. “I un-retired. That makes me functionally young enough to lead a charge against the forces of evil.” “Right. But still too old and decrepit to brew your own coffee in the morning?” “What? I like the way you brew coffee.” Lydia smirks. “You know, sooner or later you’ll have to give up your foolish pursuit of glory in battle.” “Sure. After I crush a daemon army and free a few towns from enslavement.” “Sooner than that, perhaps.” The bulk of my officers gather around a single campfire, awaiting to hear my words of exhortation. I’ll deliver my speech to them first, then dispatch them to repeat it to their squadrons. “Men!” I bellow, drawing Jimmy Bob and plunging its point into the earth. My cape, gliding behind me like majestic dragon wings, adds to the dramatic impression. “The time you have all waited for has come. Tonight we strike the first blow against our foe!” “Wha--what?” One of the officers spits out a bit of chicken. “But I thought--” Lydia steps out from behind me and glares at him. He shuts his mouth, leaps to his feet, and salutes me. The others around the campfire do the same. “That is to say, the tyrant’s army has gathered across yonder river!” I fling my arm out, pointing in the general direction of the enemy’s forces. Lydia takes my wrist and gently corrects my aim. “Their warlocks have summoned fierce daemons to terrify us! But will we be cowed?” The men glance around in confusion. “Answer me!” “Oh no, definitely not,” one of them says. “No!” The rest chant in unison. “That’s right! Because we will fight them!” I lift Jimmy Bob above my head, its gleaming blade a beacon in the night. “Follow me, to glorious triumph over the dark forces! To liberate our lands from our enemies! We will be victorious tonight, and our children will sing of our valor!” A trumpet sounds. My instincts kick in, and I swirl towards the sound. “Is that an attack?” Lydia shakes her head. “No, just a messenger.” “Our enemy wants to parley, then? Very well, I shall meet him. But he will get no surrender out of me!” I summon my honor guard and meet the messenger outside of camp. He’s a young fellow, with a tremulous look about him. Probably pressed into service by the foul warlocks. He hands me a scroll and begins to speak. “His Majesty King Snakbron the Fourth wishes that you know of the peace treaty signed by him and the ambassador from Midora. From now on all hostilities between Midora and the servants of His Majesty shall cease, and His Majesty’s army shall withdraw from all Midoran territory—” “Wait,” I say. “Read that part again.” “All hostilities shall cease—” “And that army camped across the river? Seems pretty hostile to me.” “The army is in the process of disbanding already.” “What does that mean?” Lydia snickers. “He’s telling you that the war is over.” “A trap, to lower our guard?” “Nope. You would have heard about it from our own messenger if you’d bother to read your mail.” I sheath Jimmy Bob, then hesitate. Surely there must be something for my army to conquer. “What about the daemons? They respect no treaty. Someone will have to slay those foul beasts.” “As part of the treaty, the warlocks will banish all daemons back to the underworld and refrain from summoning new ones,” the messenger says. “Oh.” I turn away and trudge back towards camp. I remember the day I set forth at the head of my army, intending to help a noble cause. Starry-eyed youths mixed with bloodthirsty warriors, all longing for glory. “What will I tell my men? They’ll be so disappointed!” “They already know,” Lydia says, taking my hand. That devilish grin of hers tells me I was the only one who didn’t. “What is there left for me to do, then?” “Maybe thank God you didn’t kill yourself on some insane venture,” she retorts. “And if you need a hobby to occupy yourself in your old age, you could always learn to brew your own coffee.” The End *** Glorious Nothing was originally published through Havok in March 2019. The rights have since reverted back to me, and I released it for free here as part of my two-week campaign to connect more readers with my writing. If you enjoyed it, sign up for my email list to get a free short story and exclusive peeks at my future writing. This close to a master bloodfencer, the crude piece of metal in my earlobe burned like hell. I itched to take it out, but it was all that guaranteed my sanity.
Sweat slicked the grip of my hydropistol as I watched Lord Dreadsower, the bloodsucking, self-proclaimed deity of this town, swoop into the alleyway to meet my partner. He moved too quickly to get in a shot, and I only had one. One silver bullet in the barrel of my gun, twin to the metal piercing my ear. Sometimes, though, one shot was all you needed. Kray looked far more confident than anyone in the presence of a vampire as powerful as Dreadsower deserved to be. Which, of course, was why he was the one to make the bloodfencer an offer he couldn’t refuse, while I crouched just past the doorway of one of the abandoned tenements. Kray and I had been hunting vampires for years now. He lured them in. I took them out. Ironic that I’d never told him the real reason I wanted to kill vampires. I’d seen the evil they could do firsthand. Felt it, even, in ways a normal man could never imagine. If Dreadsower was left unchecked, he’d drain the entire town, one person at a time. The lucky ones would be dead when he moved on. “Show me what you have promised,” Dreadsower demanded, taking a step toward Kray. “Show the lost bloodstone.” ‘Course, if we’d really had one of the ancient artifacts that created the first vampires, we’d have destroyed it rather than bring it anywhere near a monster like Dreadsower. The master bloodfencer probably knew that, but in his eyes he had nothing to lose. If his informant was lying… well, he’d gain a fresh meal. Kray took a step back, as if afraid, but I knew better. “Whoa, slow down. I’ll tell you where it is, but you gotta show me the gold you promised first.” Dreadsower moved closer, his grin betraying just enough hunger to be unnerving. “I sense fear on you, mortal.” “Well, you are pretty scary, after all,” Kray said, backing up farther. Dreadsower followed, closer to where I waited. I raised my pistol, making sure to keep my breathing even as Kray had taught me. “And more,” Dreadsower hissed. “I smell… lies!” Fear flashed across Kray’s face, real fear this time. He jumped backward as Dreadsower brandished his claws. I was rushed. I hated being rushed, but if I didn’t shoot now, Kray would die. I leapt through the doorway and took aim at Dreadsower’s leering form. Kray stumbled over a loose cobblestone. One shot. With a silver bullet, that was all it took to bring down even the strongest of vampires. I fired. I missed. Dreadsower jerked at the sound. The bullet went over his head. The vampire turned toward me, fangs bared, hopefully giving Kray enough time to regain his footing. I threw my hydropistol at Dreadsower’s face, water vapor still streaming from its barrel. It distracted him, but not enough. He pounced on me, claws raking my face. The hot scent of Dreadsower’s hungry breath made me want to gag. Time slowed. Kray yelled helplessly in the distance. That bullet had been the last of our silver. We were both dead. Wait. Not the last. I ripped my earring out, ignoring the potential consequences. The wound it left in my ear was inconsequential. The one it left in my mind—I could deal with that later. Dreadsower’s fangs reached for my neck. I rotated the earring so that its spike faced Dreadsower and rammed it with all my might into his face. For a split second, the master bloodfencer’s face showed fear. Then it showed nothing at all, instead dissolving, breaking apart into black smoke. What had been Dreadsower’s body dispersed in the air around me. I slumped on the rough cobblestone. Then I tasted the blood. A terrible hunger arose in me, one I hadn’t felt for years, and I hissed involuntarily. Kray approached, and for a moment I didn’t see him, just the thick, hot, delicious blood flowing in his veins. Kray’s face paled. He raised his own pistol, loaded with ordinary bullets, and cursed. “You’re one of them.” My friend’s voice brought me back to reality. I jabbed the silver earring into the palm of my hand and held it out for him to see. No vampire would do that. The hunger subsided, driven away by the bit of metal. “I was one of them,” I corrected him. “I’m reformed.” I had a lot of explaining to do. “I didn’t think that was possible,” Kray said. “How long ago?” “Nearly a decade, long before I met you. I had help, from a priest.” A particularly persistent one who helped me regain my reason, and eventually, my soul. Kray looked uncertain. “You still want to hunt vampires with me?” I asked. “I’m not going to turn on you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Kray smiled and shoved his weapon back into its holster. “A former vampire turned vampire hunter? That’s the kind of audacity I’d always hoped to see from you.” “That doesn’t mean I’ll agree to your insane plan to assassinate the Dark Lord.” “I have plenty of time to convince you,” Kray said. “Let’s go collect our reward.” The End *** I released One Shot, originally published in Havok magazine, as part of my two-week campaign to connect more readers with my writing. If you enjoyed this story, subscribe to my email list by clicking the green button in the upper-right hand corner of my website. You'll get another free story immediately-- and if you're joining before August 7th, 2020, you'll become part of the campaign, with an opportunity to help unlock rewards by sharing my work with others. If you join after August 8th, you'll still get a free story, one that will sweep you away for a short time into a world of my creation. You'll also get occasional updates on my writing, as well as exclusive peeks at my book reviews and upcoming stories. The Endbringer originally appeared on Havok in June 2019. I released it for free here to celebrate the release of its sequel, After the End.
The Endbringer Gerard hadn’t intended the end of the world to be so chaotic. He hurdled an overturned cart and dashed down the cobblestone street. All around him, screaming civilians scattered, desperate for a place to hide. Fleeing was futile. The governor had placed the city on lockdown after the first shadowspawn appeared. The entire city guard manned the walls, ensuring no one got in or out until the situation could be resolved. That part of the plan had worked, at least. Gerard passed a pile of corpses, black fluid oozing from their chest wounds. He gritted his teeth. It was easier to see in retrospect. Distract the guard so a band of rebels could break into the palace and depose a tyrant? Good idea. Do so by unleashing hideous monsters that killed indiscriminately? Not so much. But the price of freedom was paid. The governor’s order to lockdown the city had been his last. With no clear successor waiting to take power, the people finally had a chance to rise up and determine their own fate. If the shadowspawn didn’t kill them all first, of course. A bulbous spider-like creature loomed ahead, and Gerard cursed as he turned down an alley to avoid it. How had the monster gotten so far from the palace already? The ones he’d seen moved slowly, stopping to glut themselves on any trace of life they found. He skidded to a stop in front of the modest dwelling place of a tradesman staunchly loyal to the governor. Gerard first met with him in an attempt to open his coffers for the rebellion, but soon discovered that wealth was not his greatest treasure. Gerard buttoned up his coat and rapped on the door. Hayiene opened it, her smoky eyes wide. He smiled in spite of the dire situation. With her wild hair, she looked like a wind spirit, ethereal and enchanting. “Hayiene, we need—” All illusions of Hayiene’s ethereality were banished as she slammed into him, sending him flying backwards and landing on top of him. Gerard’s head rang from its collision with the street. “I’m all for enthusiastic greetings, but—” Screeching, a shadowspawn jumped overhead, and as the beast crashed down, Hayiene leapt to her feet. Its eyeless face turned toward them. Gerard scrambled to his feet and fumbled for his sword as the beast lunged. He deflected its claws with his arm guard, then managed to strike a blow on its bloated side. The thing chittered and retreated. “We need to leave the city,” Gerard said. “Follow me. Quietly.” Hayiene tossed aside a lighted match—what in blazes was she planning to do with that?—and walked with him to an abandoned sewage drain leading outside the walls. The rebellion had located it years ago for use in a time like this. Hayiene paused on the threshold, her hand in his as Gerard glanced back toward the palace. His men were still there, fighting shadowspawn and loyalist soldiers alike. He’d organized the rebellion. He’d decided to use the shadowspawn, and they’d followed him. Only a coward would abandon them now. He turned back to Hayiene. “I promise I’ll find you again. But I can’t go with you. Not when there are people dying here that need my help.” Gerard released her hand, then slammed down the iron grate, locking her out of the city. Hayiene’s words echoed from the drain as he charged toward the battle. “Oh Gerard, you idiot.” *** Gerard helped the wounded rebel soldier to his feet. “You’re the only survivor?” “In the palace, yes, but others fled— enemy soldiers too.” Varel pointed out the window. “It’s the shadowspawn we have to worry about.” Smoke rose in the distance. Dark, hulking forms, the largest of the shadowspawn, prowled the streets below. Gerard’s knees went weak at the thought of confronting one of those beasts. His body ached with fatigue. “Let’s go.” Gerard and Varel turned toward the exit, but the palace doors shattered under a mighty blow. An immense shadowspawn burst through, venom oozing from every pore. This is the end. Gerard raised his blade. Ironic, how the very tool he’d used to bring an end to tyranny would now be the end of him. The shadowspawn advanced, claws clacking against the stone floor. It stopped for a moment. Then it went berserk. It screamed and leapt into the air, ignoring Gerard and Varel as it flew over their heads and crashed into the far wall. It shattered a window and scrambled out, oozing fluid from wounds inflicted by the broken glass. Gerard caught the scent of acrid smoke in its wake. Hayiene stood in the doorway, wielding a flaming torch.“They don’t like fire. I would’ve told you that if you’d listened for a moment.” Gerard smiled. “I was a little rushed-” The anger in Hayiene’s glare cut him off. He glanced down and realized that his coat had been torn during the battle, exposing the rebel insignia. Hayiene’s eyes flashed with a fire to match the one in her hand. “I thought you promised to stay away from the rebellion.” Varel laughed. “Stay away from the rebellion? He founded it!” “I was going to tell you,” Gerard said. “But your father—” “He’s dead,” Hayiene interrupted. She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress with a trembling hand. “Shadowspawn. He knocked over a candle as he fought it—that’s how I found out about their weakness.” “Hayiene... I’m sorry,” Gerard said. “Is there anything I can do?” “You... you’re the one who brought them.” Gerard would’ve rather fought a thousand shadowspawn than face her in that moment, but he forced his head up anyway. “Yes.” She shoved the torch into his hand. “Then it’s up to you to send them back.” Gerard stared at her for a moment—the strength in her gaze, the firm set of her jaw. Then he nodded and raised the flame. Time to undo the end of the world. |
Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
Progress on The Lore of Yore, third draft:
100%
"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
-Oathbringer, pg 981 Types of blog posts:
All
|