Curiosity Killed the Cat — Part 5

by KD Sarge Read previous installments: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 After a time sitting in the dark by the dripping stone, Srivasi sighed and lit his wand again. “Warn a fellow,” Dasid grumbled. He sat with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He looked very young and very dirty. No, that wasn’t—well, yes, he was dirty. But his eyes looked bruised from lack of sleep, not dirt. He’d been stuck in that room at least a day before Srivasi dropped in, so he must be hungry too, though he didn’t complain. Srivasi knew well that at Dasid’s age, he himself would have been a whiny, sniveling mess who probably would have demanded to be carried by the poor adult who found him. “Your turn for the water,” Dasid murmured. The curved rock was full. Srivasi drank the water and replaced the rock. The drops were coming a little faster now. Srivasi leaned his head back and wondered why Jhi Bo didn’t come. She was trying, he was sure. She just—had a lot of places to look. And, probably, monsters to fight. She knew many things, but he didn’t think she could read Aduli, or answer a number of other questions he’d seen… Too late, Srivasi knew he should have just stayed in that first room, just pulled up a cushion and waited. She would have come soon…and maybe they’d still be lost and going in circles, but he’d have Jhi Bo with him, and that was worth…

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The Spell and the Burn

a free sci-fi short story by Erin Zarro This was the place.                 The school had stood here once, many years ago. The imprint of my trauma still lingered; I felt it in the wind.                 The Book had said to find a place with resonance. A place where the path of my life had completely changed.                 I took a breath, let it out. I didn’t want to remember, but for this to work, I had to face the memories.                 Afterward, my life hadn’t been horrible. I’d gone to college and had become a nurse. I had had a job at a prestigious medical center.                 I’d retired from there. My co-workers had thrown a huge retirement party for me. I’d gone home. I’d felt amazing. I’d done good in this world. I’d never married, but that had never bothered me.                 Until I’d found the Book.                 If I hadn’t been traumatized, hospitalized, and shunned by my peers …maybe someone would have loved me. I’d always felt wrong in my skin, completely unlovable.                 And then…                 I’d found the Book, and my life was about to change once again.                 Yes, this is the place where I’d do the ritual.                 I set the bag I’d bought on the grass and rummaged through it for my supplies. Salt for the magical circle. A pentagram necklace. A ceremonial blade.  Candles.                 The sun was setting, and the sky became alive with multicolored hues and golden light. I…

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Connection by Kit Campbell

ConnectionKit Campbell Ciel slid to a stop, mere inches from the edge. Below him, below the jutting rocks, was water, dark and cold. Hells. Another dead end. There was shouting behind him. Close. Too close. Ciel rubbed his left forearm, his fingers tracing the glowing blue design that encircled it. It’d been there as long as he could remember. His mother had always made sure he’d kept it covered, but he’d never understood why. But now his mother was dead, and now he understood. “Over there! By the ruins!” It had all happened so fast. His mother had known she was dying, had begged him to leave, to head to the city, where he would blend in better. But how could he leave her, when she was in such pain? And then she was gone, and in the act of comfort, a well-meaning neighbor had taken off Ciel’s coat. And comfort had turned so fast. He could hear their footsteps now. Neighbors, friends, people he had lived among for his entire life. Intent on seeing him gone, or worse. Ciel looked around for an alternate route, but the forest was thick on one side, and full of things one did not want to encounter. Behind him was his past, bent on his destruction. There was nothing for it. Taking a deep breath, Ciel gathered his fear around him, and jumped. The water was colder than it looked, driving his breath from him. The glow from his forearm was brighter, here…

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Two Poems in Memory of Ursula K. Le Guin

by Siri Paulson A Bit of Background Ursula K. Le Guin has always been one of my favourite writers, but I had drifted away from her over the years, as one does. When she died in January 2018, I decided to go back and read all of her Hainish universe works, many of which I had missed (she wrote novels, short stories, and various lengths in between). I’m about halfway through, reading each of them in order. It was fascinating to watch her craft develop. I fell in love with her work all over again. And…well, I’m a writer, so I process things by writing… The first poem is about a (fictional) invention of Le Guin’s called the “ansible,” a way to communicate faster than light in her Hainish universe, which does not have FTL travel. The second poem is about her three early SF novels and how they led her to writing her fifth and most famous novel, The Left Hand of Darkness. (The first Earthsea book is her fourth novel, but I left that out since I haven’t reread it yet…might need to write more poetry later on!) Enjoy! Ansible vast gulfs of darknessseparate humanityeach in our own tiny orbitbridging that distancewould take years she gave us a wayto reach out,not to touchbut something greater—conversationthe yearning to hear another,satisfiedthe need to be heard,metthe wish to understandstill out of reachbut just a little closer we whirl in our orbitsknowing nowthat we can talkand for just an instantthe vast distance…

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Flame Isfree and the Feather of Fate — Sneak Peek

You may think you’ve read this, but actually you haven’t. Please enjoy the expanded adventures of Flame Isfree and the Feather of Fate. The full novel will be available for purchase December 15th. Scampering through the treetops, never worrying what was happening on the ground—squirrels knew how to live. Flame ran among them, heart thudding and brisk air in her lungs, the sun shining through yellow- and red-edged leaves. All that and a deep blue sky, the wind in her face, the ground far below—it had been far too long since she’d run through a mountainside forest. A squirrel dropped onto a branch beside her and flicked its tail. Flame accepted the implied challenge, running past it. The beast bolted past her and leaped and Flame followed as best she could, ran along a branch and leaped again when the squirrel did, but even she couldn’t leap where it did, so it gained on her with every tree. Off in the forest, something screamed. Flame hesitated. The sound came again. Well, she was losing anyway. Flame tossed a salute to the squirrel and slowed, listening. The sound came again. Something in distress, that much she could guess. Flame took her bearings from the sound and trotted on. A frantic rustling at the foot of an oak brought her down to a young fox, wrapped nose to back legs in a cord tied to a sapling. The animal saw her and opened its lips to growl at her. It couldn’t do…

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Superstition’s Night by Kit Campbell

“…and they reached the safety of the light, and all was well.” Amara turned off her comp-pad’s screen and placed the device on the side of Braedon’s berth. She stood, straightening his blankets, before bending to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.” She retrieved the comp-pad and headed toward the corridor.  “Mom?” Braedon called. There was a little tremor to his voice that gave her immediate pause.  She returned to his berth, sinking onto the blankets beside him. “What is it?” “The story–why were they so afraid of the dark? What was in it?” Amara chuckled lightly, tucking the blankets tighter around her child. “Oh, dearest, there’s nothing in the dark. There never was. But this is an old story, one your grandfather used to tell me his grandfather told him, back when they were still on Earth. They didn’t know any better, back then. The dark was scary merely because they couldn’t see what was there, not because anything was.” She paused, gazing out the porthole at the stars beyond, the edges of the asteroid they inhabited just barely visible from this angle. “Besides, it’s never dark here. Not when the light of the universe surrounds us.” Braedon nodded slightly, smiling up at her. “Thanks, Mom.” He rolled onto his side, and Amara took her leave. Poor child. Maybe the story had been too scary for him. But it was good to look at older stories, to see what humanity had…

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The Photograph

a free horror short story by Erin Zarro The strange picture hung in the hallway near my bedroom, cloaked in shadows. It was a picture of a woman who wore a black dress. A black veil covered her face completely, obscuring her facial features. I’d grown up in this house, and the picture had been there for as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, the only way to my bedroom was past that picture. Every time I passed by her, goosebumps raised on my arms, the hairs at the back of my neck stood up, and I’d get this painful twisting in my stomach. It lasted only seconds, but it was enough. My brother and I were walking home from school one day. The air was crisp with the feel of approaching autumn. Leaves had started to turn color. My heart was heavy, because at school I had friends. At home, not so much. “I’m gonna tell Mom and Dad that you broke Mom’s vase,” my little brother, Evan, said in a sing-song voice. “They’ll believe me. They always do.” It was freaking inevitable, so I didn’t bother arguing. “Whatever.” Evan stopped dead on the sidewalk, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Something’s wrong with you. You always argue with me. ‘Specially when I lie to Mom and Dad.” I shrugged. “I dunno. They’ll blame me anyway, so what’s the point?” Evan started walking again, and I followed. Yep, that was the ritual. Evan blamed me for something I…

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Curiosity Killed the Cat — Part 4

By KD Sarge Read previous installments: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Jhi Bo slipped through the door and flung herself back, adding her weight to Gerda’s to slam the door. A tentacle thudded against the other side. Maybe two. The door shuddered but held. A few more thuds, then silence. Jhi Bo thumped her head lightly on the door behind her. Idiot! Srivasi wouldn’t have forgotten the proper order for solving an equation. “Inda brofid na?” the girl said, waving at Jhi Bo’s sword. She mimed drawing it and swinging mightily. Jhi Bo scowled at her. Why would she fight the squid if they could escape it? The animal had only defended its lair. Right. So. Solve the equation in the correct order this time, and the door was… Jhi Bo noticed as she stepped forward that the girl stepped back. *** Srivasi hadn’t argued, but Dasid said it again, louder. “It’s a death trap. It’s a stupid lousy—you know what? Sod this.” He plunked down on folded legs, folded his arms in front of his chest. “I’m done. I’m not giving some madman his jollies, watching me run in circles like some trained chicken.” “I thought you wanted to find the gold?” “There is no gold,” Dasid snarled. “There are circles. There are doors, and questions. Answer wrong, and there’s a monster. Answer right, and there’s more doors. Sooner or later you’ll blow it again, and then what if we can’t outrun whatever we find?” “Not saying you’re…

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Coat of Scarlet: A Clockpunk Tale, Part 5

by Siri Paulson Read previous installments: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Marius leaned on the railing of Niko’s airship, watching the dock workers as they clung to the spire below and untied the ropes that had tethered the ship. On the deck to either side of him, pirates hauled the ropes in and coiled them with impressive precision. The air sacs swelled, and the sails filled. The vessel slipped away gently into the night. Behind, the lights of the city gleamed like cloth-of-gold; ahead were the more scattered lights of the countryside, and beyond that a wide velvet-rich blackness that must be the sea. Nobody had paid him any mind, once he understood to keep out of the way. The pirates rushed to and fro, climbing and hauling and shouting. Niko stood on the raised deck at the…stern?…of the ship like a veritable island of calm, only making gestures now and then, or speaking to a crew member who rushed off to convey his orders. He looked like a man who could pull off a scarlet justacorps coat – not flamboyant, but self-assured as Marius himself could only dream of being. Just watching the man made his blood quicken. Marius watched, fascinated, until he realized he was trembling with cold. Now he understood the long coat and woolen tricorn hat, which had seemed above Niko’s station, for all that he wore them well. The crew seemed warm enough, moving about in shirtsleeves, but he…

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Deserts and Domes, by Kit Campbell

Deserts and Domes Kit Campbell ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Globes of electric lights flickered overhead as Mia stepped into the ballroom, smoothing the pale green silk of her gown. Below her spun dozens of the Dome’s finest, dressed in their best, each trying to outshine the rest. Purple seemed to be the color of the evening. Mia must have missed the signs somewhere. Alas. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now, except to find some other way to blend in. Deserts, how she did not want to be here. But it would not do to miss this, not after all the work she’d put into her persona, not after the sacrifices others had made to get her inside the Dome, not after the risks her “father” had taken. Matthew Ashwood stood beside her, resplendent in blues and greens, either also having not seen the signs for purple or, more likely, not caring. After all, if he cared about Dome society, he would not have taken her in. “Do you see him?” she asked, quietly, though she would not be heard over the music anyway. It came from all angles, amplified through speakers mounted on the walls. It was a waltz, scratching in a way live music never would, and its origins were unclear. Were there actual musicians hidden away somewhere? Some people could afford that, certainly, or justify attempting to, though there were very few musicians left. Probably it was a recording, or a recording of a recording. Matthew leaned…

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