ZON’ALD – Chronicles of Subjugation – Empress Bella Rose
Chocush – Dom Sabasti
The What Has Been Unseen – Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
The Crowned Goddess of Love – Michel Croteau
The Fairy Garden – KA Stefana
Petra – Huckleberry Rahr
Alchemy of a Mermaid – Jessica Chanese
Little Healer…? – Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
Ilza Stumbling – Omin Saba
The Choice – Doctor D
Hashtag Goddess Vibes – by Tory Hart
ZON’ALD –
Chronicles of Subjugation
by Empress Bella Rose
Chapter One – Shifting Narratives of Deception
Hidden within a realm imperceptible to mortal eyes, these beings of unfathomable power roared with sadistic amusement at their latest method of torment. Instead of wielding weapons of destruction such as bombs, famine, or plague, they had devised a subtler, yet equally insidious trap—they seized control of the written word.
Over a mere century, a sinister transformation took hold. Only the manuscripts whispered into the subconscious of the ‘chosen’ found their way into print.
New Year’s Day, now set arbitrarily on July 4th—a mockery of a long-forgotten concept called Independence Day—marked the arrival of the narratives. Only manuscripts whispered into the subconscious of the “chosen” found their way into print.
◆◆◆
With each shift in narrative, humanity’s conduct twisted and contorted like marionettes manipulated by unseen hands. When the tales extolled the virtues of true love, hearts yearned for soulmates, and the echo of children’s laughter filled the air. Conversely, when dissatisfaction dripped from every word, the bonds of marriage shattered like fragile glass, leaving fractured souls in their wake.
The allure of beauty, glorified in ink and parchment, enticed all to chase the illusory promise of eternal youth. It transformed faces into masks of perfection and blurred the lines between reality and illusion.
When the narratives glorified rapists and pedophiles as heroes, raising them into positions of immense wealth and power, the world became a stage for psychotic narcissists and dark empaths, each vying to outshine the legends born from the ink-stained pages.
Thus, the cycle perpetuated an endless dance of manipulation and submission as the tales dictated the course of human existence, ensnaring hearts and minds in their treacherous embrace.
◆◆◆
Amidst the cacophony of screams and crackling flames, a new presence rippled through the chaos. At first, she was nothing more than a shadow, a silhouette moving against the sickly orange glow of the fires. But as she stepped forward, her silver hair caught the light, gleaming like a beacon against the encroaching night.
Niamh emerged, her movements deliberate and unhurried, as though the madness around her had no claim on her soul. She wore no armor and carried no weapon, yet something in her presence stilled the air.
Her violet eyes swept over the scene, absorbing the devastation with a calm that bordered on unsettling. She was not a warrior or a savior descended from the heavens. She was a scribe—a weaver of tales and a harbinger of truth.
Pausing amid the rubble, she unrolled a parchment from her satchel. Her fingers moved deftly, even as ash swirled around her like snow. With every stroke of her quill, the ground seemed to tremble, and the flames bent ever so slightly toward her as though compelled by her presence.
The words flowed, defiant and sharp: “Truth is the flame that shadows cannot snuff. Rise.”
Above her, the wind shifted. The smoke parted briefly, and the sky revealed its stars, faint and trembling but visible nonetheless. A murmur rose among those watching from the shadows, gazes drawn to the strange, otherworldly figure.
“She writes for us,” someone whispered.
“She writes against them,” another added, their voice tinged with hope.
But as quickly as the murmurs rose, they were silenced by the piercing shriek of something unnatural—a sound that sliced through the air like shattered glass. Niamh’s head snapped toward the sound, her violet eyes narrowing. Whatever was coming for her, she knew it would not wait long.
Still, she continued to write.
With trembling hands and a heart heavy with the weight of her defiance, she penned the words that would seal her fate, for she knew that even in the darkest hour, even in the face of certain doom, the power of a single story could ignite the flames of revolution, and bring about the downfall of gods.
Chapter Two – The First Commandment Revealed
Whispers among humanity hinted at the existence of a sacred document crafted by the demi-gods, a manuscript never published but often spoken of in hushed tones—The Ten Commandments.
This fabled text was said to contain the secrets to the demi-gods’ power, detailing the arcane methods by which they retained their dominion over humanity. Many doubted the existence of the demi-gods. They insisted this was merely superstition, left over from the times when humans still followed religious practices, and finding this document could reveal the truth.
While creation myths had circulated for centuries, this document was rumored to hold the true key to the cosmic puppeteers’ control, a codex of their dark decrees. The mere suggestion of its existence was enough to fuel the flickering embers of rebellion in the hearts of those brave enough to seek it.
◆◆◆
During one of the rare cycles of prosperity, a small, clandestine group embarked on a perilous quest through the desolate ruins of Baja, Mexico. Earthquakes had shattered the landscape, scarred with deep fissures and jagged chasms.
The vibrant and bustling cities of the past were now reduced to rubble, their skeletal remains jutting from the Earth like the bones of long-dead giants.
Once a haven of diverse marine life, the coastline lay barren and desolate. Once crystal clear and teeming with life, the ocean’s waters had turned murky and lifeless, a testament to the environmental devastation wrought by both natural and unnatural forces. The land was a grim shadow of its former self, a haunting reminder of a terrain that had once thrived but now lay in ruin.
The world had long since dissolved borders, governments, and nations, a shattered mosaic of its former self. The remaining humans lived in neighborhoods filled with towering cement structures, each housing hundreds of people, none living past forty.
In this cycle of relative peace, the survivors subsisted on monthly gift packages of supplies distributed by their unseen overlords. These packages arrived via driverless vehicles and included food, medicine, transport vehicles, and handheld computers, tools meant to sustain life in this twisted new reality.
Yet, the most mystifying aspect of these gifts was the glaring disparity in their contents. Some received bountiful provisions: luscious fruits and sweets, luxurious lotions and fragrant soaps, solar-powered bicycles, and advanced anti-aging medicines.
Other packages contained barely enough to stave off starvation, along with ominous warnings that they were on a list for potential extermination. The reasons behind this arbitrary generosity or cruelty were a source of constant speculation and fear among the populace.
◆◆◆
In truth, the demi-gods, ensconced in their secret chambers above Earth, derived perverse pleasure from the chaos sown by their arbitrary systems. The algorithms determining the allocation of gifts were entirely random, a cruel jest played upon those dependent on these packages for survival.
These cosmic overlords often watched with sadistic glee as computers spun through endless cycles of reward and punishment, their laughter echoing through the void.
Decades had passed since human effort was remotely tied to creativity or performance standards, and in this new world, behavior and beliefs held no tangible meaning, leaving humanity in a perpetual state of anxiety and despair. The eve of the package deliveries became a night of universal insomnia and nightmares, as sleep deprivation served as yet another tool to weaken the human spirit and mind.
◆◆◆
In the heart of the desert ruins, the small group pressed on, driven by the faint hope of finding the rumored manuscript. Among them was a historian named Jaxon, whose deep knowledge of the old world’s lore had marked him as both a leader and a target. Alongside him was Elara, a young woman with an uncanny knack for deciphering ancient languages and possessing psychic skills and telepathy. Thireen-year-old Aric, the group’s youngest member, had seemingly inherited his high IQ from his grandfather, one of the last living Bio-Medical engineers.
While most humans had succumbed to the demi-gods’ bombardment of mind pollution, losing all memories of the past, these three were inexplicably immune. They clung to their fragments of forgotten knowledge, acutely aware of the demi-gods’ existence, harboring hope of finding others like themselves who could remember and resist.
The ruins, once part of a bustling civilization, now lay silent under the moonlit sky, their skeletal remains whispering tales of a forgotten past. The remnants of buildings loomed like ancient sentinels, their crumbling facades covered in sand and debris. The group moved cautiously, their footsteps muffled by the soft desert floor.
“Over here,” Jaxon called out, his voice a low whisper as he beckoned the others. He had discovered a faint outline in the sand, the entrance to a hidden chamber. As the group delved deeper into the crumbling structures, they stumbled upon a secret chamber, its entrance concealed beneath layers of debris and sand.
Chapter Three – The First Commandment Revealed
“Over here,” Jaxon called out, his voice echoing excitedly as he beckoned the others. He had discovered a faint outline in the sand, the entrance to a hidden chamber.
Elara and Aric joined him, and together, they cleared away the debris, revealing a heavy door. Jaxon’s body pulsed with power as he pushed it open, revealing a room untouched by time.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of decay and ancient paper. Shelves lined the walls, filled with tomes and scrolls, relics of a bygone era. Amidst the dust and shadows, a single pedestal stood at the center of the room, and upon it rested a lone scroll, its parchment worn and edges frayed.
Elara stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for the scroll. “This could be it,” she whispered, her voice hopeful.
“Be careful,” Aric cautioned, eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger.
◆◆◆
As Elara’s fingers brushed the ancient paper, a shiver ran down her spine. She carefully unrolled the scroll, her eyes widening as she read the cryptic instructions and decrees etched upon it. “It’s filled with sinister commands,” she murmured. “The first of the ten secrets binding humanity to the will of the demi-gods.”
Jaxon and Aric gathered around, their expressions a mix of awe and horror.
“The first commandment details the methods of control each of the sixteen demi-gods has sworn to follow, their names, and how they are each unique,” Elara continued. “Some appear to be benevolent, while others are ruthless monsters, but they all have the same goal—to keep humans locked in this treacherous sea of hope and fear. They each promise to manipulate the written word and all media, enforcing arbitrary rules, fostering division and distrust among humans.”
“It’s a chilling testament to their malice,” Aric said, shaking his head. “A blueprint for the systematic subjugation of humanity. It hints that the next commandment will detail how humans are forced to reincarnate repeatedly. We must continue searching until we find all ten commandments.”
As they read, a plan began to form in Jaxon’s mind. “This document, this unholy codex, it’s both a weapon and a key,” he said, his eyes alight with a dangerous hope. “We must learn everything possible about each of these gods and devise a plan to turn them against each other.”
“It’s a risky gambit,” Elara warned, “but if they’re warring, it’ll give us time to wake up the slumbering masses.”
“Yes, we must return with this scroll and share what we’ve discovered,” Jaxon said, determination hardening his voice.
◆◆◆
The group knew returning to their enclave with the scroll would be perilous. The demi-gods’ surveillance was relentless, and any deviation from the norm was swiftly punished. But they carefully concealed the scroll, their resolve steeled by the knowledge that humanity’s future might rest within its pages.
The moon cast an eerie glow over the desert as they prepared to leave the ruins that night. The air was tense, the silence punctuated only by the distant howls of nocturnal predators. The group moved with cautious urgency, their hearts pounding with fear and hope.
“Follow me. Don’t make a sound,” Jaxon whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “If we’re tracked, we’ll be murdered.”
Elara nodded, her eyes scanning the dark landscape, clutching the scroll to her chest, “We can’t afford to make mistakes now.”
◆◆◆
The journey was arduous, fraught with the constant threat of detection, but the promise of the manuscript’s secrets kept them going. Back in their enclave, a hidden community of dissidents awaited their return. Exhausted and wary, they were met with hushed whispers and eager faces when they finally arrived.
Elara held the scroll aloft, its ancient parchment catching the firelight. “We have found it,” she announced, her voice filled with determination. “It is the first commandment of the demi-gods. With this, we may finally have a chance to fight back.”
The enclave erupted in muted cheers, their collective spirit bolstered by the discovery. As the fire crackled and the night wore on, their minds ablaze with its possibilities. It was a fragile hope, a sliver of light in the darkness, but it was enough to kindle the fires of rebellion.
Gathered around a fire, Elara began to read from the scroll, her voice clear and steady. “The first commandment details the methods of control each demi-god has promised to follow, their names, and their sworn duties.”
The enclave members gathered closer, their expressions a mix of hope and determination.
Elara held the scroll aloft. “This proves what those of us here have sensed,” she said pridefully. “With this, we may finally have a chance to fight back. Tomorrow, we’ll plan to locate the other commandments and decide how to proceed.”
Although most couldn’t read, Elara patiently pointed to the mysterious letters, offering fragile hope and a sliver of light in the darkness. Still, it was enough to kindle the fires of rebellion.
The enclave erupted in muted cheers, their collective spirit bolstered by the discovery. As the fire crackled and the night wore on, they talked among themselves, their minds ablaze with its possibilities.
◆◆◆
Just as the first commandment’s secrets were beginning to be understood, a deafeningly loud, high-pitched sound filled the air. The celebration turned to chaos as people clutched their heads in agony. The noise was relentless, growing in intensity until, one by one, the enclave members fell to the ground, motionless.
The manuscript slipped from Elara’s grasp as she succumbed to the overwhelming sound. The firelight flickered over the fallen bodies, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the enclave. The triumph had been short-lived, and the cruel laughter of the demi-gods echoed through the night, reminding humanity of their place under the yoke of their cosmic oppressors.
In the silence that followed, the first commandment lay forgotten, its dark secrets waiting to be discovered by those brave enough to rise again. The struggle for freedom was far from over, and the dawn of a new era remained a distant dream.
Empress Bella Rose, feline muse and sovereign of whimsy, inspires the tales of Ellen M. Laura. With a regal purr and a heart full of love, she seeks to enchant readers and purr her way toward a world of harmony and imagination. You can reach us via telepathy or visit our (rarely updated) website: ellenmlaura.com
© 2024, Ellen M Laura
by Dom Sabasti
Part One
There was a brief interlude of movement, grunts, and mumbles. The clacking and thumping of doors and locks, the sloshing swirls of putrid water, the to and fro of the city’s sewers. Break time was over.
“C’mon ya stinking grunts, there’s clogs need tending.”
Movement begot grunts which rolled into mumbles the likes of which are not to be shared in polite company. This group of grunters was newly appointed, as deemed necessary by the council.
Let’s take a step back, out of the muck, as it were. The city of note is called Caoqua. It is the reigning seat of power for the world’s regulation of magic which is thusly manifested by the ingestion of chocolate, to put things plainly.
The city itself is quite new, less than a hundred years old. Sanitation only came into prominence about a year ago. We try not to speak of those times from before. The city has evolved, not just with magic prowess, but with innovative infrastructure, like the sewer system. And things worked spectacularly well, for a little while.
The city’s sect of magic users were, of course, the elite, the nobles, the scholars and artists. As of recent accounts, they outnumber the non-magic users, those that can’t afford chocolate. Indeed, the refinement of the sacred beans is a closely guarded process. Only the council has access to the refinement factory. Each manufacturer gets a monthly allotment of cacao, what they do with it determines much of their success, not just monetarily, but in the deeper arcane sense.
The city prospered. A plethora of chocolate delights filled the shops of the main street. People ate and drank of the magic, becoming more than human. Power grew, arcanely and politically. But, as magnificent as magic can be, the human body was never meant to process so much of the sacred brown elixir.
Everybody started to shit their brains out. It became a rising tide of overdosing acolytes that thought themselves above the funk of being human. Even pleading to Saint Montezuma gave no tangible relief. It took several years of planning and several more years of construction, but the sewer system was implemented and the flow commenced, out of the city and far far away. Slowly, the users of chocolate sighed their relief, until the next issue, clogs, which brings us neatly back to the grunt squad.
Burt, biggest of the grunts, took the mantle of leader, much to his opposition. He was given an apron, a bandana, and a tool that looked like a mutated gardening hoe that had been enchanted with an anticoagulant. He mumbled his way down the smooth tunnel, stopping when he reached the grate.
“Damned magic users eating up all the chocolate. Maybe I’d like a little magic, too!” Burt’s rant reverberates down the tunnel.
He hefts his tool, squints, then reaches a hand to a spot that looks a little shiny. It is a crystal the likes of which he has never seen before. It is dark in its depth. He stares intently as he dislodges it from the grate. He attempts to wipe it down but the muck seems to not want to leave it’s surface. Shit clings to it, sliding over its surface, like it’s seeking a way in. In a fit of ignorant anxiety, Burt removes his gloves.
“Oye, Birdy, what’s going on down there? Have you got the clog?”
Burt is startled to coherence and realization. This was something new, and possibly powerful, and it was his discovery. He turns down the tunnel as he places the crystal in a pocket under his apron. “All’s well. Nothing to worry about. Be done in a tick.”
Part Two
Burt took his leadership appointment seriously, at least that’s the vibe he was giving to his coworkers. He told them it was his solemn and solitary duty to clean the grates while the rest of the crew tidied up the adjacent tunnels.
Burt retrieved and confiscated at least one crystal a day. No one ever knew, at least not that he could tell. He never talked much with the others and soon parted their company after entering the sewer tunnels every morning. They mumbled and grunted their acceptance, happy to not be knee deep in aristocratic shit.
After his first week of work, Burt took out his collection, dumping them from several pouches and pockets into his bathtub. As an extra layer of paranoid protection, Burt shut and locked the bathroom door. The tub was filled about half way. The brown muck sizzled and melted away, leaving clear water, shiny crystals, and a sediment for future study.
One by one the crystals are removed, dried, shined, then placed on the windowsill. Once all the crystals are out of the water, he carefully siphons out the liquid, leaving a sandy grit that sparkles. Every last grain is picked out and placed in a bottle, then the tub is washed down and sanitized.
The sun begins its descent under the horizon, warm rays sweeping over his city. The crystals lined up at the base of the window begin to glow in the evening light, a moment later the sun is gone and the crystals settle down to nothingness. Burt grunts a harrumph, blinks twice at the seemingly inert shit crystals, then washes his hands in the sink.
He daydreams under the cascade, remembering his first and only time trying chocolate. He was barely out of his teenage years, playing in the alleys of the outer fringe of the city. Garbage picking of the Chelite (chocolate elite) was a common hobby of the dregs. He learned early on the value of that which is cast out. On this particular day, picking through a choice selection from the refuse cans outside the council chambers, Burt found half a truffle. The shell showed signs of teeth, smooth and well maintained. The creamy center had leaked out, or maybe someone had sucked it all out before casting the shell away. Still, the morsel Burt held in his hands was like ambrosia. Before any of his friends could discover, he popped the mangled candy into his mouth and closed his eyes.
His entire physical body was taken over by the briefest spasm of euphoria. It shook him to his core, reverberating flippantly before diminishing to a pocket of gas, half of which went up and out, the other half traveled down for future expulsion.
“Nice one, Birdy,” could be heard from a nearby balcony. It was a female voice, but he never saw the face. He imagined as hard as he could, but the face never manifested. He sighed his disappointment as he turned off the water, flicked his hands three times, then toweled off.
He must have been lost in his dream longer than imagined. All sunlight was gone, slowly being replaced by the rising moon. The row of little crystals sitting on the stone ledge began to hum as the moonlight touched every facet. Burt stared in awe, until his nostrils flared and his stomach started to grumble, reminding him that dinner would burn if he didn’t tend to it quickly.
The kitchen was two steps out of the bathroom. He annoyingly flicked off the burners and set the pot on the table, a rebellious splash escaping the stew sending out a single blop of super hot sticky liquid that landed on his cheek just below his left eye. “Fuck!” Adrenaline flares, a hand slams the table, a foot kicks a chair. He is beyond exasperated with his situation. He wants more. He wants magic. He takes a deep breath and turns to the bathroom. A grin spreads across his face.
Part Three
He stood silently in the doorway, the small half-circle window at eye level, the clumps of crystals at the base vibrating ever so slightly. Burt gasped, took a step over the threshold, then gasped again. With all his breath exhaled he took another step, his face beaming with a grimace of joy. Tears began to flow as he stumbled to the base of the tub, banging his shins, hard, on the jagged stone ledge. A new stream of tears followed with a few choice words mumbled between clenched teeth.
He turned and sat with a whimpering moan and proceeded to rub the hurt away. And then he hears something, like a buzzing of bees, but far away, pitching up to a celestial crescendo, and then, pop. Actually it was more of a simultaneous explosion of sorts, but very quick. It seemed the clumps of crystals that had been bathing in the moonlight could take no more, so they popped, altogether, except for one. It was, of course, the biggest, the darkest, and the clearest. And now that there was no longer any competition, it flexed with an arcane resonance that took Burt’s breath away, again.
Burt stepped into the tub and put his face right up to the ledge where the most beautiful crystal in existence hummed and pulsed with a new kind of magic. Burt giggled, then he chortled, then he went silent. He gazed deep within the crystal, shadows of probabilities danced around inside it like an insane kaleidoscope. Burt moved in a little closer, focusing his prominent left eye, at once seeing his own reflection on the flawless face of the facet. But this was not his face as it was in his now.
“Hmmm,” as he leans away. He begins to gather up every granule of debris he can hope to find, picking through and sliding out as much personal debris as possible, which quickly becomes impossible. A random brass dish served as the vessel for the bed of magic shit crystal dust whereon the mightiest of magic shit crystals was laid to slumber. It still pulsed, but the rhythm softened, sending out gentle thrums that rippled out over the magic dust like the coo of a slumbering babe. It was incredibly soothing to simply watch the rhythm of magic as it cycled. With a deep inhale, Burt set the lid reverently over the artifact, stepped out of the tub and walked into the kitchen. The brass bowl was set down in the very center of his small circular table.
So many questions were racing through his head that he couldn’t stop to enjoy the over-cooked food that stuck to his fork and throat. But, he ate. He needed his strength. He needed to get to work early. He needed to find more crystals, bigger crystals, and he had a good idea what zone to start this new quest.
He was up before the sun. He gave a quick peek to the sleeping crystal, feeling almost like a new parent, and then he was out the door. He descended down the first access tube he encountered and made his way to the heart of the city. It took him almost an hour, getting slightly lost only once. The pungency altered noticeably the closer he got. The essence of chocolate was always paramount, but down in the sewers a new way of distinguishing was necessary. The shit of the painter did not smell the same as that of the architect, just as the shit of a council member was distinctly unique from that of a barista. And they were all uniquely powerful in their own mutated manner.
These thoughts kept reconfigurating in his barely awakened mind. Each subtle difference was carefully curated and cataloged before being stored in a random dark room of his mind where he unexpectedly turned down an unknown hallway and promptly dropped the sack of accumulated knowledge before tiptoeing backwards toward more familiar territories, like dreaming of giant magic crystals. The crystals were the focus, and he would take any size, color, or configuration he came across.
He turned down the final junction that would lead him to the source, where a well-spring of water met with waterfalls of piss and shit. The roar of the churning got louder with each sloshing step until it was a constant disturbance that blocked everything else out.
The high-pitched whistle was quick, and it easily split through the interference of water noise. Burt froze and listened. Another whistle, up ahead, in the direction he needed to go. And then a hand on his shoulder, which scared him enough to pee just a little.
Part Four
“Hey, Birdy, how’s it hangin’?”
“Low and slow, low and slow.” Burt slowly turns toward the voice. “Arlo?”
“Yeah buddy, surprise. Cmon, we’ve been waiting for you.”
“We?” Burt was absolutely lost.
“Yeah, your faithful crew, the guys, the gruntiest of grunts.”
They walked further down the only way they could, which was into a tunnel that began widening in specific increments until they entered directly into a wall of pungent magic. A bit off to the right, someone clapped. It was a beautifully resonant smack, the result of which was the clearing of most of the fog. Everyone took a sighing breath.
“Sorry about that, gents, trying out a new warding spell.”
“Chalk that one up as a success, I’d say.”
Burt was in utter awe. “What in all the hells is going on here, gents?”
“Crystals, dear Burty, it’s all about the crystals.”
Burt blinks and attempts to clear his throat. “Crystals? What’s this about crystals? You guys got a new hobby? Gonna open a jewelry shop?”
“Cut the cush, Burt. We figured that’s what you’ve been doing. Thing is, captain, the crystals are everywhere, down here, and this,” gestures around the strange chamber, “this is the beginning of something new…”
“…and grand.”
“…and powerful,” this word resonated a rumbling response from all.
Burt beamed, then began, “Arlo, Qaine, Timos, and Big Behn, gather close and hear these words.”
A shuffling of feet, a widening of eyes, and then appreciative silence.
“We five, here and now, constitute a pentagram of potential. We have discovered a new type of magic. We are bonded by its uncertainty, and also its possibilities. Swear to each other that this knowledge will stay between us, and no one else. I believe our first blood pact needs to be crafted.”
Qaine raises their hand with confidence, “I volunteer to craft the spell. I’ve been studying all the symbology books I could find. Kinda been a hobby of mine since I was a kid, in the hopes I would ever get some magic, you know, like every other kid on the fringe?”
“Maybe not every kid,” Burt elbows Timos in the ribs which gets him a smack on the back in return. “And once we got that all whipped and baked, y’all are invited to my place for dinner. Plus, I wanna show you my one and only crystal. And she’s a beaut.”
“One? We figured you’d have a menagerie by now.”
“Do you guys not know about moonlight?”
“Burt, Birdy, we haven’t been topside since the first discovery. This is our domain, now. We lay claim to it, soon, very officially, we hope.”
“In a nut sack, the crystals soaked up moonlight, the smaller ones popped (I kept the dust), the biggest one did not, and I think it might be alive, or something.”
“Wait, ‘in a nut sack’? Is that a scrotum reference? Should I be offended?”
“He means ‘in a nutshell’, like trying to summarize into a tight nut.”
“My nuts have been tight for months.”
“What nuts? We all know you were castrated as a baby, Timos.”
Laughter circulated with a plethora of jabs and quips. Burt looked on for a moment more, then turned and walked out through the wall of fog. There was work to be done and big crystals to find. He had no time for social bullshit. He had confidence in their competence, but he had no stomach for the trivialities.
He wandered and plundered for many hours, thinking of tangents branching off of paths that swirled into storms of uncertainty. The world would change, he felt that in his soul. A new magic was born, and power would shift.
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© 2024 Dom Sabasti
by Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
“The Light must prevail. The Darkness must be destroyed for all time. Our order thought we succeeded back in Dark Times. We burned them with the Witches. We did not allow the Children to live.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The room became bright as high noon. Four men stood at the four points in the room of north, south, east, and west. Each carried a torch.
Each man wore full on cloaks of white with the hoods up. They were guards on the one who stood in the middle.
The man in the middle of the room got called Viceroy. He looked visible, his white and gold hood on his cloak laid down. His hair looked long and white. His eyes seemed bluer than blue. He possessed no facial hair and had no flaws on his face at all. He appeared to be a Holy Man.
On his knees resided a man in a blue robe. The hood laid back as well. He had been called into the presence of the Viceroy. He had brown hair and eyes. His skin appeared light brown as well. Of Middle Eastern descent, he professed to be a paladin hunter of this Order of Heaven’s Decree.
The Order of Heaven’s Decree was a zealot order formed around the Rise of Christianity. Their soul purpose to be…the eradication of all the things of darkness that they believe allowed things to interfere with God’s Light. Their first campaign had been said to be Nephilim, then the Children of Darkness, and later the beings called vampires, shifters, demons, and those alike.
“I called you here, Jessiah Mock, because a travesty has been over looked. You are one of the greatest among the Paladin Hunters. You do not question and accept God’s Law.”
“His will be done.”
“I call you off the rift raft to fix an over sight and lay it to rest. To give us back the control that we have gradually lost twenty-two years ago. You are commissioned to be God’s blade and fix this.”
“I am his blade already. Direct me Viceroy.” He bows his head to this man.
“In the place of Europe, the Dark Children of Nephilim were believed all put to death…or so we thought.
“The children of Roth Farchild were hidden from us, but for over five hundred years they were not felt. The light had dominated…until that twenty-two years ago.
“It was a pulse. A birth. More recently, a DNA test was brought to my attention. We researched it to belong to a descendant of Roth Farchild. One that the Darkness is being drawn to. You are to find that pulse and destroy it before it takes root.
“Her name is Diana Fairchilde. She is the Dark Childe. You will find her in New Orleans, Louisiana.”
Jessiah bowed his head, “I am to kill the Dark Childe then. How severe is the threat now?”
“Minimum. However if she awakens, it can jump to severe and even maximum. Do not fail us, Paladin. Dismissed.”
Jessiah stood and left.
***
3 days later…
A song played in the background sky blast…’All eyes on you’…by Smash it to Pieces.
The Voodoo La’beau was crazy with the collage night.
Some girls swayed together in the middle of the Dance floor. Hips moved and they danced in a circle together.
Among them stood a chestnut brown haired girl. Little bits of both blonde and red lain in her shoulder length locks, though mostly brown. Her height looked short at only five feet and three inches. Her witch hazel, color changing, eyes closed. She wore a knee length spandex dress with Amazon style sandals.
Her moves grabbed the most attention, though she happened to be three sheets to the wind. Specifically a table with five guys at it watched.
One of the men had dirty blond with short kept hair. The others ranged from black to red haired.
A small red light grabbed the dirty blond’s attention and he quickly gestured to the others. He got up and approached the short girl on the dance floor.
The others got up and scattered from the table.
Suddenly her shoulder exploded in blood.
By luck, it happened to be her right shoulder.
She screamed.
The lights were cut off.
The dirty blond snatched the little thing off the floor and retreated out a side emergency exit with her.
The shooter holstered his gun and ran with the patrons.
Jessiah looked around for the girl, knowing he only wounded her.
She was not with her friends and she was no where to be seen.
Diana Fairchilde escaped him.
When their leader went for the girl, the subordinates had their own jobs to do.
One of them went for the lights and the second man disabled the alarm system. The other two men broke out onto the parking lot by the front door and pulled their black panel door van into the alley way near the emergency exit.
In the front of the van remained a brown haired set of twins. Both were built lanky with some visible muscle tone. They also had brown eyes and wore torn stone wash jeans, green t-shirts, and tennis shoes.
The first man ran up and opened the panel door and had a seat just inside. He was the red haired guy with a scruffy beard on his chin, unlike the baby faced twins. He wore jeans, a wife-beater, and hiking boots. He had been the one who disabled the alarms.
A moment later, the second man appeared. He had the black hair and green eyes, the one that dressed in black jeans, shirt, and boots. He killed the lights inside. As he reached the van, he looked back down the alley.
Their leader ran up with the unconscious girl in his arms and got in. The black haired one got in after and closed the door. “GO!”
The twin in the driver’s seat threw the van into gear and casually drove off.
The dirty blond haired male laid her down on a blanket in the back of the van.
He stood at a height of six feet and six inches. A long with the hair, his eyes were storm cloud gray. He seemed clad in a denim button-down, a blue t-shirt, and western style boots.
With her blood on the button-down, he pulled it off and flipped it aside. As he lounged near the unconscious woman, his muscle tone through out his upper body appeared evident through the shoulders and biceps. His name was Damon Samuelson.
“Hey, Alpha, how’s your girl?” The man who spoke, the dark haired one named Slade Harding. He acted as Damon’s Beta.
Damon nodded to her, “Her shoulder is healing. The bullet would have to be in a fatal area to kill her so I am not worried. The bullet fell out on the way to the van. Her bones are rebuilding and the wound is shrinking as we speak.
“The Voodoo Queen’s letter said that she knew the identity of my fated mate. She also said that my mate would be the Prophecy of the Dark Childe and man did she describe this girl to a T.” He glimpsed in her pocket at an ID, “Diana Fairchilde. This type of healing, that scent of a campfire, the fact she is hotter than sin, Diana has to be her.”
Chad Vargas, the red headed guy, sat back. “So Our Luna is the lady of legend that has been prophesied for the last five hundred years?”
“Let’s just get her away from the Order Paladin first”, commented Trip from the driver’s seat. Tray, next to him, happened to be his quieter twin in the shotgun seat. “I saw the guy. Looks to me to be a desert dweller type from the Middle east. He had a pendant of a star shield around his neck.”
Damon nodded, “Best we can do is get as much distance between the Dark Childe and the Hunter. Until she recovers and wakes up, she needs to be secure.”
He pulled over a medical bag they carried on these excursions from pack lands. Within sat some medical supplies and some liquid sedatives. If the Voodoo Queen been right, a sedative should still work and at least keep her asleep until morning. He pulled 5 ccs into a syringe and injected her in the arm with it.
As the lady had been unconscious anyway, she just curled up and continued to doze.
Damon laid down beside her only to end up with her rolling over and laying her head on his chest. The act stunned him a moment, then he wrapped an arm around her waist. “This works too, little darling”, he whispered to her. He breathed her in and closed his eyes. “If I’m not awake by Texarkana, wake me.”
Slade dropped a spare blanket over the couple. “Sleep tight, I got this for awhile.”
The Beta and the red headed Chad moved up behind the twins to let the Alpha and his Mate sleep.
It is a belief among those tied to the true natural order of things that life comes from a time of darkness. It has only been in a belief of light that darkness needed eradication to save all. Snuffed out during the Dark Ages because of this, the Earth slowly began to die…In the last twenty-two years, those a part of nature noticed renewal. Darkness seemed to be balancing unto the light. Prophets did say that there would be another…
© 2024 Dark Childe
by Michel Croteau
On the edge of a big forest lived in an enchanted castle a beautiful queen of the Fae. She was so gorgeous that she was adored and venerated by her people who brought her continuously gifts and built shrines dedicated to her beauty.
Her name was Faenora, and she was so proud of herself that she wouldn’t allow any other Fae girl to be praised or admired.
But suddenly her people stopped to venerate her and bring flowers crowns to her or to her shrines. ” What was happening” she wondered very angry, and she sent all over the Faeland her courtiers to inquire.
They come back with bad news. A Fae king on the other side of the forest had three daughters that now had grown into beautiful maidens. Their names were Feyisa, Faelin and Faelinda.
They were all lovely, but Faelinda was the most graceful of all and the people was so mesmerized by her beauty that had forgotten to honor queen Faenora who believe to be even more beautiful than the goddess Faevenus.
At first growling with rage, she tried to strike the goddess Faevenus’ statue that was in her palace, and she insulted daily mocking her that she did not compare to her in attractiveness … but she stopped hearing the goddess Faevenus say.
“Oh, foolish creature what you will gain destroying me? What you need is good advice in how to avenge yourself in getting rid of your rival the lovely Faelinda.”
“How can you talk being made a marble … do you have magic power?” The queen inquired, surprised.
“I am made a marble here, but I am a real Fae goddess, and I can help you.”
“How can you help me?” the queen responded interested.
“I have a son handsome more than any other Fae gods … his name is Faeamore and he will do whatever I order him to do.”
“What can he do?”
“He is a heartless cruel creature … he can take her away during the night and give her to a monster or drop her into the sea” Faevenus replied and then add” but you must swear to never destroy my marble statue and to build me a shrine.”
“That will be great … and if he does it, I will build you many shrines” Faenora lied.
Then Faevenus called her son who was in Fae even having fun with his gods and goddess buddies and told him that she had an errand to do for him.
Feaamore got annoyed that she had interrupt his good time, but he knew that he cannot disobey his mother or else…
“All right tonight I’ll fly over her castle, and I’ll take care of this Faelinda but how do know which one is Faelinda?”
“You cannot make mistake the other two sisters they are already married and live with their spouses. They say that nobody dares askes for Faelinda … she is so beautiful that intimidates any pursuers.”
The same night Fae~amore flew to the palace where Faelinda was living with her parents. He found her sleeping in her room. He looked at her under the light of a torch.
His mother told him that she was beautiful, but he never would expect to be captured by the grace and fragrance emanating from her face and body. He felt a sudden change in his cruel heart … a melting sensation that transformed it from a rock to a beating organ … but he had a job to do.
He took Faelinda in his arms blowing a puff of oblivion in her eyes so she wouldn’t wake up to her fatal destiny. He was taking her to a monster friend of his but in the way he changed his mind.
‘‘No, I can’t let this angel be eaten by a monster … I’ll drop her in the sea” he decided and flew over the dark angry waves of the nearest sea that seemed ready to receive her … still Faeamore couldn’t let her go.
The roaring of the sea and the wind woke up Faelinda that fast realizing the danger spread her wings wide open and tried to get away from Faeamore thinking that he was a monster trying to kill her. He followed her and she shouted at him:
“Get away from me horrible creature” It was dark and Faelinda couldn’t see that Faeamore was not a monster but the handsomest of the gods.
“Wait … wait Faelinda I am not a monster… I was ordered to kill you, but I couldn’t … the moment I saw you … I fell in love with you, and I am going to save you. I’m going to hide you in a place that nobody knows so please trust me and follow me but remember to never tell anybody who I’m or to discover my identity.”
“All right I’ll trust you … but why you can’t tell me who you are?”Faelinda inquired.
“Who gave me the order to kill you will punish me severely for my disobedience so my sweet bride I will only come at night to visit you.”
Faeamore broth Faelinda in a splendid palace where she had everything, she wanted … still she was lonely since she could see her spouse that by now she loved dearly too only at night … so she asked Faeamore if she could invite her sisters to visit her. He agreed but reminded her not to talk about him and that she could be with him only at night.
Faelinda promised that she wouldn’t do that but when the sisters came to visit her, she couldn’t resist her sisters’ teasing.
“Why won’t you talk about your spouse? we ‘re sure that he is a monster ah ah ah!” they would say and laugh.
“No, he is not a monster … he is the most handsome creature of all.” Will Fealinda protested.
“Well then let us see him tonight while he sleeps … we’ll be very quiet”
That night the three sisters with the light of a torch entered Faeamore’s bedroom … and although they tried to be very quiet … Faeamore woke up and shouted at Faelinda.
“How can you betray my trust like this? Now all the world will know that I have disobeyed the mighty goddess Faevenus and she will take revenge on both … there is no love without trust. I am leaving and I’ll never come back again”
“Oh, please don’t go … forgive me. I will never betray your trust again” Faelinda desperately tried to hold on him but in vain. God Faeamore left and never returned.
Faelinda at first cried her eyes out for days … then she got determinate to find her beloved spouse and get him back no matter what it took.
“Where can I start?” – she asked herself – “of course with his mother! She should know where I can find him and if she kicks me out, I’ll try again and again.”
Faelinda walked and walked until she reached the Fae Skyland and there, she knocked on the palace of goddess Feavenus.
“Please mother-in-law let me in … I’ll do whatever it takes to be forgiven.” Faelinda cried outside the palace for days, but nobody would listen or let her in.
After a week Faevenus thinking that finally Faelinda had died of hunger open the door to get rid of her. But the girl although emaciated and unkept was still alive and threw herself at the feet of the goddess begging forgiveness.
“I am not mother-in-law of you wretched creature. You don’t know the damage that you have caused to my son. The gods have sent him in a dangerous mission to punish his disobedience. Queen Faenora have broken all my statue and shrines … go away or I’ll kick you down from the Fae Skyland.” The goddess shouted at Faelinda.
“I beg your mercy venerable goddess … I’ll be your humble servant all my life if you let me stay”
“Uhm aren’t you obstinate? Well, I could use a maid for the most unclean jobs, but don’t you dare ever again to raise your eyes on my son when he comes back. ‘’
Faelinda once a privileged princess dressed in rugs worked for months at most minimal jobs that she was assigned without ever complain while she kept praying for the safe return of his spouse.
One day while she was scrubbing the floor of the main entrance of the palace Faeamore came in. He was back from his mission. Faelinda saw him and for happiness she started to cry silently since she was not allowed to look at him. Faeamore stopped and saw the face of Faelinda reflected into the shiny pool of water that her tears had created.
“Faelinda my beloved spouse what are you doing here scrubbing floors? Get up and came into my arms. I never stopped loving you … I know I was too harsh … forgive me. “
“I would my dear spouse, but your mother has forbidden me to look at you although my love for you have never died”
“My mother will honor you like I do. I am not anymore, a spoiled child but a strong man and as a god I proclaim you, my goddess. From that day on Faelinda was known as the real crowned goddess of love.
It is a belief among those tied to the true natural order of things that life comes from a time of darkness. It has only been in a belief of light that darkness needed eradication to save all. Snuffed out during the Dark Ages because of this, the Earth slowly began to die…In the last twenty-two years, those a part of nature noticed renewal. Darkness seemed to be balancing unto the light. Prophets did say that there would be another…
© 2024 Michel Croteau
by KA Stefana
Stepping onto the balcony, Emma James looked out into the distance, longing for adventure. Excitement. She longed to escape the stifling life of the upper class. Oh, how she wanted to run barefoot through the estate, yelling, laughing, and playing.
Fate was a cruel taskmaster, ensuring her dreams would be crushed to suit those who controlled her future. Her father. He was the master manipulator of her fortunes and would be the benefactor of the bonds formed on her wedding night. In a world full of ruthless alliances, the stranger in her bed could make or destroy her father’s fortunes.
If only she could run away,… she would.
She knew the truth that the life she was born into divided nobles and peasants, and her heart would be given to a chosen suitor. Her father would ensure it.
The months passed swiftly, and her appointed time to meet her chosen suitor grew closer. Fear settled into her weary bones. Who would she be forced to marry in the name of an alliance? Would it be some boring benefactor or an old man fading from this world? She was nothing more than a useful tool for him to wield against his enemies.
How she hated her father and this world she lived in.
Without thinking, Emma James wandered down the spiral staircase, entered the manicured gardens, and meandered carelessly down the path. Taking her time, she pretended to enjoy the fragrant flowers along the pathway, but the minute she was out of sight of the castle, she opened the hidden door and passed into the fairy garden. Quickly, she ran to the water’s edge and sat down on her favorite tree stump.
Unbuckling her shoes, she placed her feet in the warm water and sighed as the water lapped around her ankles. Closing her eyes, she wondered what it would be like to undress and swim in the waters. Would they carry her away from the unwelcome life waiting for her? Would that be so bad?
Taking a deep breath, she nearly fell into the water when a mysterious voice asked, “Emma James, have you come to set your spirit free? Give into me, and I’ll fulfill all of your dreams.”
Standing up, she held her hand to her heart as she looked at this stranger. He was beautiful, with pale skin and deep blue eyes. His hair was wispy and translucent as it blew in the wind.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” she asked as her voice shook. Every ounce of rational thought screamed at her to run away from this ancient creature, but her feet were tethered to the ground. Perhaps she didn’t truly want to run away. After all, he was beautiful to look at, regardless of the danger he posed.
With a flick of his hand, he waved her worries away, sweetly saying, “Oh, Emma, I’ll pleasure you in ways you never dreamed possible. Your human brain isn’t capable of such desires.”
His voice was like a flute. It was easy to ignore her hesitancy and give in to his power. Gathering her courage, she demanded, “What’s your name?”
Smiling sweetly at her, he hid the true nature of his powers. “It doesn’t matter. Now come here and let me pleasure you,” he waved his hand, and she was compelled to move toward him.
Glaring at him, Emma James knew this stranger was dangerous, but she was too curious to flee, knowing that her father would never allow her to entertain such pleasures in this world.
He whispered in a soft and seductive voice, “Follow me.”
Her heart started to race, and warning bells were blaring as she hesitated. His hand brushed hers as tendrils of light started to trace their way up her arm. Within minutes, she was covered in a web of light.
Mystified, she gasped, asking him, “What have you done to me?”
Ignoring her question, he replied, “Close your eyes, and you’ll see. You’re not in any danger unless you consider unbridled pleasure dangerous.”
In the mere moments she waited to decide her answer, the power of the light took over, and she forgot all her fears; any hint of hesitation disappeared the moment he entered her thoughts.
Suddenly, they were not standing in the middle of the forest, but she was floating in the water, and he was next to her. He lifted his hand from the water, and droplets fell from his hand, dropping onto her stomach. Lowering his hand, his fingers traveled across her cheek, sending shockwaves through her mind.
How could this be real? She fretted, believing that she must be a feverish dream.
Pulling her into his embrace, his lips brushed hers. How could a chaste kiss be her undoing? In her mind, she felt sensations she had never experienced before, waking her body to his seductive powers. His breath upon her skin would be her undoing, but before she could protest, he disappeared.
Alone in the fairy garden, she struggled to wade out of the water and back to the shore. As her feet touched the sand, she wondered how she would explain her predicament to her father. Would she say that she fell into the water fountain?
Just as she was about to open the door and exit the garden, an electric shock ricocheted through her, and she went flying backward, landing on her back. As the pain wore off, she saw his hand reach out to help her up. His smile turned into a frown as he reprimanded her, “Where do you think you are going, Emma James? You now belong to me.”
Frightened, she tried to run from him, but there was no escaping this monster. Finally, he grabbed her and whispered in her ear, “The moment you gave into my touch, you gave your soul to me.”
Without another word, he snapped his fingers, and she disappeared from her fairy garden forevermore.
It is a belief among those tied to the true natural order of things that life comes from a time of darkness. It has only been in a belief of light that darkness needed eradication to save all. Snuffed out during the Dark Ages because of this, the Earth slowly began to die…In the last twenty-two years, those a part of nature noticed renewal. Darkness seemed to be balancing unto the light. Prophets did say that there would be another…
KA Stefana is an indie author writing dark fantasy with a twist of romance. To find her other stories click on the linktr.ee:
© 2024 KA Stefana
by Huckleberry Rahr
1: The Carnival
The sounds of the kids screaming assaulted my ears. The carnies barked out incentives to get the gullible to come and buy their wares, play their games, trip their traps. I pulled my robe tighter around my body. The iridescent blue and green material had a spell worked into it repelling the masses from coming close, but with the number of people attending today, the spell couldn’t keep up.
My skin crawled as a mother scooted by, dragging a sticky kid. “Come on, darling, we need to get you washed up if you want to go on another ride.”
Why can’t these people keep their spawn contained?
The noise got louder as I moved deeper into the maze of the games, rides, and overpriced greasy food. The smell of burnt grease turned my stomach as I recoiled at the smell.
Bile rose in the back of my throat, causing my mouth to taste sour. My lip twitched as I navigated the maze of booths. This carnival came to town once every three years, and Tanya set up shop there. She sold magical elements that no one else did. Most of the people here didn’t even see Tanya’s glittery tent. To them, it was a closed exhibit they barely even saw. But to those of us who knew … we waited until the carnival came to town, braved the masses, and all found our way to her doorstep, so to speak.
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how she endured living with the sights and sounds of this environment. Better her than me.
An itch had me turning to my left. One of the displays in the weird and wacky collection called to me. Every muscle in my body tensed. I was so close to Tanya. What could it be? Could
I ignore it? The itching became a pressure, and I had my answer.
With a quiver, I turned to the large tent. So many people streamed in and out of the red and white striped monstrosity. The back of my mind screamed, ‘no,’ but the pressure pushed me forward.
Inside the tent, there were curtains hanging to direct the flow of traffic for the marks … customers. I knew I wanted to turn right, but I was forced to move with the crowd, circling the tent to the left. The mass of people I’d entered with jostled past a bearded woman. I groaned. What was so shocking about that? Then there was a girl with four legs.
Display after display, each person had a small deformity, but nothing that seemed that amazing. Nothing here called to me.
Why am I here?
Finally, at the end of a walkway, there was a divider, sturdy enough to have a door set into it, that concealed the last display. Part of me wanted to groan in frustration, part of me wanted to get this over with, and part of me knew whatever lurked on the other side of this curtain was what my magic wanted me to see. Hope and dread fought for supremacy within me. I wiped the palms of my hands, clammy with sweat, on my legs.
What will I do if I see something I need to deal with?
The carnival workers were only letting a few people in at a time. I gritted my teeth while I waited, wanting to blast those ahead of me with an energy bolt. Only years of meditation and breathing exercises saved the poor souls. After what felt like an hour, I was finally at the front of the line. Past the last curtain, I froze, dread soaking me, my hands turning to ice.
In the center of the room sat an aquarium as large as an SUV. Within its depths swam an ocean dragon, its red scales dull in the murky water.
Ocean dragons were rare. They needed space to swim, or they could wither away from lack of movement. In the wild, they could breathe fire, but they needed to be properly fed. The workers here were obviously mistreating this beauty, beyond the lack of movement. Her scales were as dull as her eyes, which should have been glowing. There weren’t chains on her, but the home they’d put her in wasn’t large enough for her to survive.
“Okay, everybody out.”
My focus snapped to the worker herding us to the exit. My feet were planted.
“Ma’am, you have to leave. There is a time limit with this display. You are welcome to come through again, but you have to wait in line if you want more time with the dragon.” He sounded bored, as if he’d said these words over and over.
Fire burned in my soul. I bit my lip and stormed past him. I no longer cared if I brushed against the non-magical riff raff, I needed to see Tanya. It only took a few minutes to get to her tent. I rang the large ornate bell carved with intricate symbols that meant the sound wasn’t heard by the non-magically inclined.
“Helena, enter.” Her voice was high pitched and clipped. A small smile played on my face at Tanya’s ability to always know who visited her. Was it part of her magic or the bells?
When I pushed past the opening, she sat behind a table with her long wavy brown hair loose all around. She wore layers of flowing fabrics, necklaces, and a beaded headpiece. I didn’t think she was a hippy, but she dressed in the hobo fashion.
“Hello, Tanya. Thank you for seeing me.”
“As always, you are a welcome customer.”
My hands trembled as I moved into her space and sat across from her. “Thank you.”
A knowing smile played on her face. “Do you want the same order as always?”
“Yes … no.”
“Which is it?” Her head tilted in confusion.
There was a chill in the air and in my body as I debated what to do next. “I need more.” For a few minutes I explained the ingredients I needed. “And if you’d allow it, I would like to use your space to mix a spell.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s quite a spell you want to mix, Helena. If you do this, we all could get in trouble. You’re endangering the entire magical community and you know it.” Her face tightened, then she nodded. “You’ll need my help to create a diversion. This will cost you. Seven thousand for everything.”
My hands trembled as I pulled out my purse. It was always expensive to visit Tanya, but my change in plans had just upped the ante by quite a bit. “Do you disagree with me?”
Across from me, the smaller woman shook her head. “No.You are right. It needs to happen.”
2: Petra
All told, I was in Tanya’s tent for just over four hours. While I worked, the other woman went out and got both of us food from outside the carnival, an act I was very grateful for.
When I was done, I paid her, took my goods and supplies, and left.
Apprehension chilled me as I approached the tent which held the water dragon. I’d never spun this spell before. Though it was new, I was a wizard of the highest class. I knew the theory. As I waited in line, walked through the displays, ignoring the oddities, and finally made it past the final obstacle, I tried not to think about what must happen for my plan to work.
The group ahead of me went in. I pulled out my cell phone and texted Tanya. Five minutes.
“Next group, you have five minutes in there. No photos.” The guard’s bored, but gruff voice brooked no arguments.
As soon as I got into the area, my eyes settled on the red dragon. My stomach churned with anger once again as I took in her cramped quarters.
A noise reverberated from outside, loud and jarring. Everyone in the small room jumped.
The walky-talky on one of the guard’s hips came to life. “All personnel, to the east wing.”
One of the guards took his device. “We have people in with the dragon.”
“I said everyone!” The man yelled.
I whispered a few words, reactivating my robe’s spell. It wasn’t a strong one, but if the guards were distracted, and I stood still off to the side, they wouldn’t notice me.
“All right, everyone out. The exhibit is closed until further notice.”
They guided everyone else to the exit, much to their chagrin, if I read their sneers and grumblings correctly. I listened as the other people in the room complained about the length of the wait, only to be denied time to see the dragon. Over their protests, I heard the sound of the chains being secured across the openings of the tent. They were locking everything down.
It worked, I was left alone with the dragon. Excitement surged through me for a moment, then I took a breath to focus.
I moved to the side of the aquarium. “Listen, I want to free you, but I have to do a spell on you. My magic won’t work in the water. I need you to come to the surface.”
For a moment, the violet eyes glowed and gazed at me. I wondered if the creature understood. There had been no research done on whether or not the dragons were smart enough to understand humans. I just assumed the answer was ‘yes.’ The creatures always appeared to be intelligent.
I opened my mouth to say more, when the beautiful creature blinked slowly, then floated to the surface. Trembling, I reached up and poured the first vial I’d created over the body of the red beast. Low and fast I whispered the magical words, pushing out as much energy as I could.
It took a few seconds to begin, but then I watched in amazement as the dragon morphed into a … oh gods! A huge woman. She was at least six and a half feet tall. I gulped and stepped back, patting myself down.
My robe had dozens of pockets, and I was grateful that I could hold and hide so many things on my person. One of the things I always carried was an extra shirt and pair of shorts. Magic could get dirty and I always wanted to be prepared.
When she stepped from the aquarium, I handed her the clothes. Her violet eyes gazed at me.
“What done?”
My jaw dropped. “You can speak? And you know my language?”
“What done?!” She spoke louder.
“I’ve made you human so I can sneak you out. I’ll put you back to rights once we get to the ocean.”
A flurry of anger swirled around her. She shook the clothes, then sniffed them. Glaring at me, she slowly brought the shirt to her mouth and licked it, recoiling at the taste. “What these?”
“Clothes. You can’t walk out of here naked.”
Unmoving, she scowled at me.
I held my hands out. “Can I help you?”
In one curt motion, her head jerked down then up.
Slowly, I stepped to her, holding out my hands in a non-threatening manner. First, I helped her put on the shorts. The fit was tight, but I got them over her hips. Then I pulled the shirt on her. It was an old one I’d had for years that read, Relax, We’re All Crazy, It’s Not a Competition. The irony of the words weren’t lost on me and I bit back a hysterical laugh. “Okay, let’s go.”
I stepped to the exit. When I turned she hadn’t moved. Sighing, I walked back to her. It took a few minutes, but I showed her the basics of walking. Luckily, the dragon was a quick learner.
They’d dropped gates across the openings, locking the goods in. At each lock, I mumbled under my breath, using a basic unlock spell. Thankfully, those were the easiest spells to master. Once we were out of the tent, we headed for the woods.
Our progress was slow; the dragon didn’t have shoes and really didn’t know the mechanics of walking, but we couldn’t stop. Sooner or later, someone would discover that the dragon was missing, and the hunt would be on. Though no one could guess the tall woman beside me was the dragon, I didn’t want to take any chances.
We got to a clearing, over halfway to the parking lot. The dragon took off. Now she can run? “Wait, dragon, don’t!”
Heart tumbling to my gut, I ran after her. Being a foot shorter, my chances of catching up were slim.
She dove at a deer—that thankfully took off before she could grab it—and landed hard on her belly.
I knelt next to her. “Hungry?”
“Yes.” She growled in frustration.
“Is there something besides ‘dragon’ I can call you? You can call me Helena.”
“Petra. You call me that.”
“Is that your name?”
“No. I heard name. It works.”
“Okay, Petra. Why don’t we go to my car? I’ll buy you food.”
“Fine. But deer-size food. Hungry.”
The way Petra looked at me, I had a feeling if I didn’t get enough food, I’d become her next meal.
3: Freedom
In the first drive-through, I got a hamburger for me, and two for Petra.
In the second drive-through, I got a half dozen hamburgers for Petra. That settled her until we reached the next city.
It wasn’t enough. “Burgers good, but small. Want more.”
She got out of the car and ran after a squirrel. I caught up to her and stopped her before she killed the poor creature. The two of us came to an agreement. We would stop for food as many times as she got hungry as long as she didn’t run off or eat random animals or people she found along the way.
The city was about a one-day drive from the ocean. After the agreement I’d made with Petra, it took two days.
Soon she got tired of burgers and her natural curiosity took over. She’d never had human food. She wanted to try tacos and pizza. When she moved up to fancier foods, pasta and steak, I got the food to go and we ate it picnic style. I couldn’t imagine her dining in a restaurant. Actually, I could, and as amusing as the thought was, I decided against it.
When we finally arrived at the beach, we sat and watched the waves as they came in and out. “So, this is it. You’re about to go home.”
She sighed. “Yes. Home. Home good. Miss home.”
“I’m glad you’re here then.”
The violet eyes that had spent more time glaring at me looked at me thoughtfully. “Why?”
“Why am I glad you’re here?”
“Why save?” Her low, husky voice sounded very confused.
“Because what those people did was wrong. The other displays in that tent were people who could say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to being on display. You, they just took from the ocean. Also, they didn’t give you enough room to move. It was barbaric. I didn’t think you’d survive.”
“No. They starve me. They starve food and move. Then I die soon.” She gazed out over the ocean, baring her teeth in a grin. “Now I live.”
“Good. I’m happy.”
Just like before, I had to help her take off the shirt. She’d figured out the shorts over the few days of travel. Then I poured the vial of potion over her and spoke the words.
Before she transformed, Petra smiled. “Thank you, Helena.” It was the only time she’d said my name. Then she was a red ocean dragon again, moving to the water.
Once she hit the waves, she was gone without a backwards glance.
Huckleberry Rahr grew up with lesbian moms with a huge collection of women authors. Her favorite genre was fantasy, that is, until she discovered urban fantasy. She found the books lacked diversity in background, gender identity, and sexuality. She decided if she couldn’t find that, then she’d write it. You can find more about her and her writing at:
© 2024 Huckleberry Rahr
by Jessica Chanese
The mermaid and the centaur circled one another on Neris’ largest beach. Both were in their human forms, as the Challenge Rite forbade magic and weapons. Bare feet on sand and battle leathers on flesh whispered as they moved, ringed by eager spectators.
The centaur struck first, launching himself at the mermaid. Nia evaded his tackle with a series of effortless flips. Landing behind him, the mermaid knocked the centaur flat with a powerful kick to his spine. Nia wasted no time. She straddled her prone opponent, wrenching his arms behind him and clasping his wrists in an iron grip.
The mermaid drove her knee into the small of the centaur’s back. “Yield, Lemery. No need to prolong your embarrassment.”
The centaur groaned and bucked. Ready to bring the match to its inevitable end, the mermaid grabbed a fistful of the centaur’s hair, yanked hard, and shoved his face into the sand. She pulled Lemery’s wrists upward at the same time. The centaur yelped around a mouthful of sand as his shoulders bent at unnatural angles, joints and bones popping and clicking in protest.
“Dammit, Nia! I yield,” Lemery spat.
Nia stood tall, raising her arms above her and bowing to her audience. Moonlight caught in her dark braids, glinting in the streaks of indigo, emerald, and vivid violet woven throughout. The crowd rewarded her with applause and shouts of praise.
An older woman, with long white hair the same shade as her flowing robes, emerged from the crowd. She raised a glowing torch, quieting the cheers.
“Let it be known: Nia, last living daughter of Clan Muriel, is the night’s victor. Her position as Commander of the Army of Neris, defenders of our sovereign nation and servants of its ruler, Queen Saraya of Clan Fleurie, is secure,” declared Damaris, the Queen’s Magistrate.
For an instant, the mermaid’s composure faltered with the reminder of an uncomfortable and unavoidable truth. Buried deep in Nia’s gut, a tiny seed of worry grew each year before the night of the Challenge Rite. The mermaid knew one day she would not emerge victorious. The Queen gifted defenders of Neris with longevity beyond the already generous lifespans of the Alcheme clans, but they were not immortal. Eventually, age would exact its toll and Nia would be forced to pass the reins to a successor.
The thought chilled her. Her purpose in life was to protect the citizens of Neris and its Queen. Neris was enjoying an extended period of peacetime, thanks to the complement of Queen Saraya’s impeccable diplomacy and Nia’s aptitude for defensive strategy, both on and off the battlefield. Still, threats to Neris’ safety were never far away.
The Alcheme clans won their independence from the sorcerer-led nation of Dravkar long before Nia was born. But the sorcerers’ desire to regain control of their wayward creations never waned. Nia could guarantee the Sorcerers’ Guild sent a representative to observe tonight’s match. Had she lost, an attack from Dravkar would have been imminent. Another reason for Nia to be grateful today was not her day to fail.
Content with the knowledge her post was secure for the time being, the mermaid shed her battle garments, handing them to a page before wading into the sea. Nia closed her eyes, reveling in the warm water lapping at her legs and the sea foam dancing in her wake. She listened to the sounds of the waves meeting the surf and the calls of the seabirds as they chased each other, unseen in the night sky.
The mermaid inhaled deeply, drawing in the salt air. The smooth skin of her hips and legs shimmered and stretched into the iridescent scales of a magnificent fishtail, a glistening patchwork of deep blues, purples, and greens sliding over obsidian.
With her change complete, Nia dove into the waves. The mermaid surrendered to the ocean’s embrace and swam for home.
###
“The mermaid keeps her post, my lord,” the Sorcerers’ Guild page reported. He studied the tiled floor, knowing better than to meet the Sorcerer King’s gaze.
Standing against the far wall, Kesper, the Sorcerer King’s Advisor, dismissed the boy with a flick of his bony hand. Troian watched the sunrise over Dravkar through his chamber’s window, sipping his morning tonic as the page scurried away.
“It’s as you predicted. The mermaid will have a front-row seat to Neris’ destruction. Your foresight is remarkable,” Kesper said. “With your expert guidance, our kind will take back what is rightfully ours. All thanks will, deservedly, go to you, my King.”
Troian had little patience for his Advisor’s obsequious prattling. Kesper was overdue to meet an untimely end, as many of his predecessors had. The Sorcerer King knew he needed the sycophant for a while longer, if the plans he set in motion were to succeed. It wouldn’t hurt to put a bit of a scare into him in the meantime. The old sorcerer’s mood brightened, if only for a fleeting moment, as he thought of Kesper frightened and in pain.
The Sorcerer King drank the last drops of bitter tonic, his canny eyes trained on the rising sun. Without warning, the empty glass sailed from Troian’s hand and shattered against the wall next to Kesper. Before he could register surprise, the Advisor found himself lifted into the air by an invisible hand crushing his windpipe.
“I find your fumbling attempts at flattery tiresome, my friend,” Troian said, his tone deadly. “We stand to lose too much if we give ourselves over to self-congratulation so prematurely. Do we understand each other, Kesper?”
The Sorcerer King faced the window, never once sparing a glance toward where his spell held a flailing, sputtering Kesper high above the floor behind him. Troian lessened the pressure of his magic on the other sorcerer’s larynx.
“Yes, of course, my lord,” the terrified Advisor wheezed.
“And the pawn is in place?”
“Yes, sir,” Kesper answered.
Troian nodded, and Kesper fell in a heap. Unconsciousness swept him under as his head bounced hard against the cold floor.
The Sorcerer King’s gaze remained fixed on the morning sky, blood-red streaked with violet.
###
Briarwood Fortress, the seat of operations for Neris’ government and Queen Saraya’s residence, was nestled within the dense forests of Rose Isle. The small island ringed with rocky cliffs jutted from the sea just beyond the horizon as it appeared from the Neris mainland. Nia’s home was built inside a cave deep within the sea directly below Rose Isle.
After the Challenge Rite concluded, the mermaid swam for hours, burning off restless energy and doubt stirred up after the match. As she approached her dwelling’s entrance, her renewed sense of calm evaporated. An anxious page hovered near her door.
“Florence, what is it?”
“Commander Nia, Queen Saraya has need of you now. Sir Galen said it’s urgent and you must come immediately,” the page’s projected thoughts blasted into Nia’s mind.
A labyrinth of expertly warded tunnels connected the underwater realm of the Merfolk to water sources on Rose Isle’s surface. Streams, tide pools, fountains, and wells functioned as portals to grant the sea dwellers direct access to Briarwood. The tunnels were a convenience necessitated by the vast number of Mer who held posts in Neris’ government, served in its military, or were otherwise employed at Briarwood.
By the nature of Nia’s role as Commander and the Queen’s close confidant, the mermaid was granted permission to construct a passage linking her quarters to Queen Saraya’s several decades ago. Its existence was known to only a handful of trusted servants of Neris. To all others, the fountain in Queen Saraya’s sitting room appeared as a rare concession to regal excess. Out of respect for her Queen’s privacy, Nia used her tunnel only when absolutely necessary. Tonight was one such occasion.
“Nia, thank the stars,” Galen, Saraya’s cousin and head of her private guard, greeted the mermaid as she emerged from the fountain into the Queen’s chambers. She transformed, hastily drying herself with the towel Galen offered and donning a spare robe.
“How bad?” Nia asked. Her tone was brisk, absent of the roiling emotions building within her.
Galen raked a hand through his short, dark hair. “Bad. Terrible, Nia.” Gesturing toward a halfway-opened door, he added, “They’re in her room.”
The mermaid strode toward Saraya’s chambers. Damaris sat at Saraya’s bedside, appearing older and more drawn than she had just hours earlier presiding over the Challenge Rite. Although the change in Damaris was unsettling, Saraya’s appearance was more alarming. The Queen’s fiery ringlets spoke of her Fairie blood – Saraya’s temperament was far more balanced than most Fae, but her Fae heritage ran deep in all other aspects – and now the vibrant red hair arrayed on a silk pillowcase was limp and matted with sweat. It framed her face in stark contrast to her sickly pallor.
Noticing Nia, Saraya attempted a smile. Her effort dissolved into a grimace as tremors of pain wracked her body.
The mermaid knelt by the bed, taking Saraya’s hand in hers. “My Queen, what has happened?”
“The Sorcerers’ Guild has breached the treaty. We are on the precipice of war,” Damaris answered in Saraya’s stead.
“How?” Nia asked.
Saraya spoke with visible strain. “They are responsible for my illness. Of that, I have no doubt. After I became sick so suddenly, Galen and the guards searched Briarwood for any indication of a cause. They found traces of iron shavings in my private food supply.”
Nia made no effort to conceal her surprise. Iron was highly toxic to their kind and was forbidden in Neris. It was used by the sorcerers so many years before to keep their creations subdued and subservient. Dravkar had the only iron stores on the continent, and they were closely monitored by Neris’ intelligence operatives – soldiers under the mermaid’s command. If iron made its way into Neris, and into Briarwood no less, there was a traitor, or several, amongst them. Neris was under attack, and the enemy was within its borders.
“You’ll recover, my Queen. Surely you’ve already given her the antidote?” Nia’s eyes searched Damaris’ and found them full of unshed tears.
“Damaris brought me the antidote as soon as we knew. The poison spread quickly. The damage is irreparable,” Saraya answered.
Nia protested, but Saraya gave the mermaid’s hand a weak squeeze and continued speaking.
“Damaris, you will be my witness,” the Queen whispered. “Until such time that an election can take place and the voice of Neris’ citizens is heard, I command Nia of Clan Muriel to be my successor.”
Nia sat motionless, silenced by grief and fear. She grasped both of Saraya’s hands in hers, fighting to push back a rising wave of panic.
“But, my Queen,” the mermaid pleaded, “I am a warrior, not a ruler. I am not what Neris needs.”
Nia hadn’t cried in decades, but she struggled to hold back her tears. Tears brought on by
the impending loss of her Queen, her friend. Tears fueled by the terror of the sudden, irrevocable shift in her life’s path. Saraya lifted a shaking hand to Nia’s cheek and spoke with quiet urgency.
“Nia, my dear friend and loyal servant, you are exactly what our beloved Neris needs. If you can’t trust yourself at this moment, trust your Queen. You will be Neris’ salvation.”
With her final proclamation complete, Queen Saraya’s eyelids fluttered shut. Nia’s tears flowed freely.
###
Nia felt as if she was swimming through an unending haze in the days following the Queen’s murder. Her coronation, surreal and somber, came quickly on the heels of Saraya’s funeral. Neris’ Council voted unanimously to allow Nia to hold dual titles of Queen and Commander until the end of the month-long mourning period requisite with any royal death.
Peacetime in Neris had come to a deafening end, and the mermaid found a measure of normalcy in the rote ministrations of battle preparation. She entrusted the investigation into the Queen’s poisoning to Galen and a few elite guards as she readied her troops for war.
On an afternoon a little more than a week after Saraya’s passing, Nia was reviewing the latest intelligence reports in Briarwood’s library. Galen and two guards burst in, dragging a handcuffed satyr behind them. Nia stiffened, recognizing him as a cook in Briarwood’s kitchens.
“Tell the Queen Commander what you told me, Samuel,” Galen demanded.
The satyr huddled on the floor by Nia’s feet as his confession tumbled out in a torrent.
“I had to, Queen Commander! They have my Tavia and our son, Rainier. They said they would kill them unless I…I had no other choice,” he cried.
“Of course you had another choice! You could have come to Saraya, or to me. We could have helped you. Instead, you murdered our Queen,” Nia fumed.
Samuel broke into heaving sobs. Nia empathized with his predicament, but could never condone his decision.
“You had to realize the Sorcerer’s Guild would kill your family, no matter what. And, they’d come for you soon, too.” Nia paused, struck by a realization. “Troian wouldn’t let
someone with your knowledge of their plans live any longer than necessary. You live, so the sorcerers must still have use of you. What is your next assignment?” the mermaid snapped at the weeping satyr.
“I don’t know what you – “
Nia hauled Samuel upright by his neck, until they were nose to nose.
“Do not lie to me again,” the mermaid growled. “If bringing your wife and son back to Neris alive is possible, we will make every attempt to do so. They’ll visit you in prison for the rest of your days, but I won’t leave innocent citizens of Neris to die in Dravkar just to punish you. However, if you lie again, Tavia and Rainier will visit your gravesite should they return. Are we clear?”
Samuel nodded. Nia dropped him to the ground.
“Take him for further questioning. Find out what his next task was to be, and if any others are in similar situations. If he doesn’t know, look into recent disappearances. Take a census of all households with a relative employed within Briarwood.”
Galen motioned for his guards to remove Samuel from the library. He stayed back to speak with Nia, his expression accusatory.
“With all due respect, Queen Commander, why are you not ordering his execution on the spot? He committed treason of the highest order.” Sorrow shaded Galen’s features. “He assassinated our Queen, our Saraya. How can we let him live?”
The mermaid was undeterred. She understood Galen’s desire for vengeance, but couldn’t lose sight of the broader significance of Samuel’s confession.
“The cook was merely a weapon wielded by Troian and Dravkar’s regime. They are our enemies. They are responsible for our Queen’s death.” Nia’s words gained intensity as she spoke. “Troian believes he can sow discord by turning our own against us, and us against our own. I will not let that happen. Not when the sorcerers kidnapped and blackmailed our people on our watch. We will protect the citizens of Neris. All of them,” Nia declared. Galen’s bearing changed under the mermaid’s unwavering stare, shifting to a posture of deference.
“I understand, Queen Commander,” Galen said quietly. Bowing his head, he added, “Saraya chose well.”
###
Nia stood on one of Briarwood’s many balconies, overlooking a courtyard packed with soldiers and civilians. After Samuel’s admission of guilt and subsequent revelations of similar extortion attempts by the Sorcerers’ Guild, she sent pages to each of the settlements to invite all of Neris to Rose Isle. Their strength was in their solidarity as citizens and servants of Neris; they needed to bring their people together in good faith to reassure them, and to send a clear message to their enemies that they would not turn on one another because of the sorcerers’ manipulations.
The space was filled to overflowing, and the mermaid knew that three times as many were camped outside the courtyard’s walls. A few daring children had climbed the stone walls and were perched atop them. These were her people, if Nia thought. Her army and her people. She would not disappoint them.
“Citizens of Neris, we have long been haunted by a destructive force seeking to steal from us our hard-won independence. The sorcerers desire to control those who are not like them. Those they see as beneath them, as tools of their own design. But we are not lesser – we are more powerful than they could ever imagine. We will use our strengths – our diversity, our resilience, our unity – to secure a future where all can thrive.”
The courtyard erupted in applause. Nia paused until the cheering quieted.
“Our enemies sought to destroy us from within. They have failed. We will head into battle as a unified nation to ensure our freedom from those who wish to enslave us. We will fight, and we will be victorious!” Nia’s words resonated with searing determination. She raised Neris’ flag above her head. “For Neris!”
The crowd echoed, “For Neris!”
The weight of responsibility no longer felt like a burden to the mermaid. Instead, it grounded her, tempering the fire coursing through her veins. For the first time since Saraya’s death, Nia understood why her Queen chose her to lead. She would be what Neris needed. And she would not fail.
Jessica Chanese is a speculative fiction author living in the foothills of the Adirondacks with her husband, two forces of nature masquerading as their children, two rescue dogs, and a kitten with a bigger personality than all of them combined. You can find her on Facebook and Instagram, and you her work is available on Amazon.
© 2024 Jessica Chanese
by Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
The woods, along the Mississippi River, the western bank near Memphis…
A fight…
Four Wolves attacked one man.
Out numbered, he took injuries but gave out as good as he received.
In a unit, they went for his legs. It happened to be too intelligent for the common wolf. These wolves were, in fact, supernatural.
But so too, the man…
Six feet and seven inches in height. The male also had supernatural strength. He got in a killing blow on the gray and brown wolf, breaking ribs. The man also had black hair that he kept short, usually a crew cut.
He threw down his torn up shirt, exposing his muscular physic…though his left shoulder bled profusely…he seemed unphased by it. The rest of him sat covered in black cargo pants and hiking boots.
The three wolves noted their dead and rallied to face the man once again.
The hands on the man morphed in their momentary hesitation. When the three came at him again, two of them became met with claws.
The third went low and sunk fangs into the man’s groin.
With the other two wolves cut to pieces by his claws, it allowed him to take hold of the last wolf. The man pried open the gray-white wolf’s maw with exceptional anger, backing his strength.
He forced it to release his groin, but kept pulling.
The muscle in the wolf muzzle tore.
The Wolf whined…
The man ripped the head in two.
This fight ended.
Adrenaline fell for the survivor and, due to blood loss, he collapsed to his rump on the blood soaked ground.
“DAMN IT!” He applied pressure to his groin, the blood oozed between his fingers. The damage had been done to his femoral artery, his long term survival seemed nonexistent in this case.
His eyes rose at the glimmer of red that flashed before him…
She stood maybe three feet at the most. Her red hair seemed just a little disarrayed and ranged just beyond her shoulders. Her little hazel eyes looked at him with curiosity. Her skin had a pale look, most red heads looked that way. She wore a basic leggings and a cap sleeve shirt…all green in color. She even wore little tennis shoes.
The little girl gave a small wave, “Hello.”
“Um…where did you come from?” He tried to shield his leg injury, “Where are your parents?”
The little girl blinked and shrugged, “I don’t know.” She brought her right index finger to her lips. The little girl blinked again. “You’re hurt.”
He answered quickly, “I’m fine.”
The girl reacted.
The hand, at her lip, began to glow a pale green color. Then she reached out and touched his right leg.
The pale green energy traveled up that leg and to his groin. More of it shot up his body and into his shoulder.
It all healed in a matter of seconds, even his head cleared up from the blood loss.
He sat shocked a moment.
“All better”, she chirped with a smile.
The man sat up and looked at the two injuries a moment, she healed me somehow. Then he drew the child closer to him. “I thank you.”
The little girl yawned.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?”
She nodded almost like a bobble head.
The man pulled his feet under him, in a knelt like position. He slipped his arms around her and picked her up, as he stood.
The little red head cuddled into his neck and closed her eyes. In moments, she had fallen asleep.
Seeing her asleep, he sighed.
The little red head seemed a little irrational. With no one immediately around and the Verizon Pack about, the little tyke would be in danger out here. Granted, there wasn’t any wolf about her, but she did heal him…saving his life.
I didn’t intend to find a little healer here, but I can’t just leave her here either.
The man looked back toward the path that he had been escaping down. With superhuman speed, he moved quickly through the woods further to the west. He made it quickly to I-55 and a hidden black 2022 Dodge Charger.
He sat back the passenger seat with a button push and laid the little lady down to sleep. Then he jogged around to the driver’s side and got in. he grabbed a spare black shirt from the back seat and pulled it on.
Then, with the key in the ignition, he drove them away to the north.
The man…Ari Killian, the Alpha of the Dire Wolf Pack called Blud.
The girl, he would figure her out as he drove her home to the pack lands.
Alpha Ari Killian, being a hands on kind of Alpha, led a few Enforcers south to the border of Tennessee with hopes to sabotage the Verizon Pack. Instead, they walked into an ambush. The soul survivor, Ari seemed to be dying…until a child appeared.
© 2024 – Silver Moon
by Omin Saba
“It’s not what you think.”
“It never is, right?”
“Mostly.” Ilza wandered off from the other two, contemplating the inevitable. She listened to their continuing banter as she distanced herself, until she could hear no more.
The trial was in three days.
How prepared can one novice possibly be, she contemplated. Her teachers didn’t exactly hold her in the highest regard. Unfit for ascension, or, No natural proclivities toward the arcane, or worse, Why are you even here?
These thoughts haunted her every step as she absent-mindedly entered the forest. She was nervous beyond normal anxiety. Her thoughts clouded with storms of self-doubt, of regret.
Father would have known what to say. He would have encouraged her with the greatest of wisdom. If only…
She stopped when her foot encountered a root. The pain was blunt, but enough to break her of her stupor. She looked around, clueless as to where she was. The rustling leaves seemed intent on whispering something to her. She closed her eyes and listened. Gibberish. Her ears were not yet attuned. Her mind was incapable of linking to the spirits, and yet the spirits spoke.
She heard them, everywhere, all the time. But she could not understand them. She lacked, on so many levels.
A tear formed in the corner of her eye, beckoning a reaction. She wiped it away, gathered up the mucus in the back of her throat with a monstrously guttural snort, then spat it with remarkable precision at a squirrel unlucky to be inquisitive. It retreated to its hole with a tirade of squeaky expletives. Ilza smiled.
It felt good to smile, although it strained several of her face muscles. As quickly as it appeared, the smile vanished, replaced with a countenance of determination. She walked on, deeper into the darkening forest.
The forest descended into near total blackness. Everything became shadow. She breathed it in, attempting another smile. It hurt too much, but her resolve pushed and pulled at the muscles, rending them into a shape of distress, exposing jagged teeth.
A click, a crack, a gasp. Her ears pricked up. Her dull eyes scanned the shadows, squinting hard, perceiving nothing. She sighed with frustration.
Is this my trial? Has it begun?
© 2024 – Fabula Nosh
by Doctor D
A version of this story was included in a serial Vella entitled Unleashed Nightmares. The original story, The Pool and The Choice, was amended for this submission.
*
An old man named Thomas was walking wearily through the dark woods, deep in the forest, filled with the ancient trees of southern Ohio. The old and thick trees formed a canopy over the worn-looking elderly man, who felt content.
Thomas came to a crossroads in the woods, a place where two paths crossed each other. One branch led home, and the other led even deeper into the forest. Following the new path led to a tiny open area. Walking toward the clearing, the old man stumbled upon a crystal-clear pool of water.
He knelt to drink from the sparkling pool and gazed upon his reflection. Thomas barely recognized the old man he saw in the water’s reflection staring back at him. The reflected version of the man’s face sported long lines of age, and many scars from life’s battles were etched deeply into his visage.
What the hell?
Suddenly, the pool’s waters began to shimmer, change, and morph before his very eyes. The old man gasped aloud. In moments, Thomas saw his life entirely—flashing by like tiny snippets from a movie trailer.
Thomas viewed the greatest moments of joy and the worst moments of sorrow flash before his amazed eyes and stunned face.
He saw the laughter and beauty of his children and grandchildren as well as the warmth and glowing inner beauty of his precious wife and mate.
Next to these happy visions were juxtaposed the dead, cold faces of men he had slain in war glaring at him with accusations unanswered.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry! Maybe both?
The old man witnessed the grateful faces of those he had extended kindness to, mostly children and young people. Side-by-side with faces of those he had done and said hurtful, awful deeds. Many of these faces he had forgotten about in the depths of his aging mind.
Have I done more good deeds in my lifetime than evil?”
His life appeared to him as a giant sandglass—very near empty. Only a handful of grains remained to run through the shiny glass. His heart ached from reviewing each mistake, lie, and betrayal he had committed throughout his long lifetime.
The old man felt the bite of a chilling wind and heard a deep, powerful voice emanating from the mysterious pool.
~ Thomas. I am offering you a choice. Either you choose to relive your life armed with the knowledge of your past sins and mistakes– and seek to correct them– or you choose to be judged here and now! ~
Thomas shuddered with fear. Was the entity from which the voice came benevolent, or did it intend him harm?
Was this his judgment day? Had he fallen into some dark trap?
The air felt too thick to breathe, and the old man felt his heart racing in his chest.
Yes, I deeply regret my wrongs.
The opportunity to go back and correct his mistakes was appealing. But- he could go back and make matters worse. Would his actions cause more hurt and suffering?
The old man spoke aloud. “What happens if I choose to go back and I fail again?”
~ Choice is uncertainty. You may succeed, or you may make things worse. Choice is a two-edged sword, Thomas. ~
Thomas felt anger rise in his heart and stood up. He would not be bullied. His entire life had been spent standing up to bullies; he loathed them. “I won’t play your silly game. I did my best, and that is enough. If my life is judged as lacking, then so be it.” The old man finished hotly!
The water on the pool’s surface began to ripple faster, churning so violently that water splashed out of the sides onto the forest floor.
~ Then you choose immediate judgment! ~
Thomas felt the woodland ground beneath his feet shifting wildly. He heard trees crashing and falling. He heard the wind howling like a crazed banshee. The forest floor’s surface directly before him cracked open to reveal a bottomless, dark pit.
The old man named Thomas fought back. He swiftly grabbed the vines and roots exposed from a fallen tree, holding on tightly for dear life. The old man filled his lungs with air and shouted, “I choose my life and no other!”
The old man saw only darkness, and he passed out.
When Thomas awoke, he was lying on the forest grass. He stood up gingerly and looked around. The old man was at the identical crossroads that had initially led him to the crystal pool.
The pool was to his left, and the way home was to his right. With a deep sigh, the old man named Thomas muttered, “It’s my choice, and it always has been.”
With a weary little smile, the tired old man turned sharply right and began the long trek home.
END
About the author AUTHOR BIO Dr. Thomas Davison has taught college coursework inside two State Prisons in Ohio for the past eight years. His observations and interactions with his incarcerated students have deeply moved him. This motivated him to create poems and short stories about their daily lives and experiences. Thomas has recently started a not-for-profit Entrepreneur Services for Felons (ESF). He has dedicated 100% of his writing earnings to providing free one-on-one support services for felons and ex-felons. Dr. Davison has created two Writing Clubs within the prisons. These incarcerated students are his beta readers to ensure he speaks in their voice and keeps it honest. Recently published novels: The Boy With Strange Eyes – https://www.amazon.com/Boy-Strange-Eyes-Thomas-Davison-ebook/dp/B0CPB6TWT4/ -Fantasy, Voted by the readers as the best story Across all genres. The # 1 Champion of the Kindle Vella Writers Tournament! Different Prisons – https://www.amazon.com/Different-Prisons-Dr-Thomas-Davison/dp/B0D8ZS3ZRG/ – Biographies and Memoirs, Non-Fiction, The amazing true story of the eight years Dr. Davison spent face-to-face inside the prisons, teaching felons! How To Write a Winning Dissertation – https://www.amazon.com/Write-Winning-Dissertation-Thomas-Davison-ebook/dp/B0D6DN6TFR/ – Academic Writing, Use this easy to understand guide, which includes best practices ‘crib sheets,’ to create a powerful and successful Doctorial dissertation! Coming Soon! Dr. Davison’s debut horror novel, New Beginnings: A Story in The Cthulhu Mythos..
© 2024 – Thomas Davison
by Tory Hart
The relic, a bronze disc covered in runes and faded engravings of mythical beasts, rested on a weathered stone pedestal in the middle of a crumbling archaeological site. The Mediterranean sun beat down on the ruins, the air buzzing with the faint sound of cicadas and distant waves.
Iris adjusted her camera, focusing more on her best angles than the history surrounding her, ensuring the ancient backdrop looked perfect for her stream.
“You guys are gonna love this,” she said, her voice full of forced enthusiasm. “Live from the middle of nowhere, it’s your girl, Iris—Queen of Content—risking it all to bring you the spookiest legends the Mediterranean has to offer! Hit that like button, and don’t forget to subscribe if you haven’t already; the curse of—” she squinted at a nearby plaque, “—Nyssa might just spare you.”
Behind the camera, Tariq, her local guide, fidgeted. “Miss Iris, please,” he said, his voice careful.
“It’s important to respect this site. The relic is not—”
“It’s fine!” Iris interrupted with a laugh she used on overzealous guides or difficult brand reps.
“I’m sure the goddess understands the importance of going viral.”
Tariq frowned but stayed quiet.
The comments poured in: “What’s the curse??” “Touch it!” “OMG spooky goddess vibes!” Iris leaned closer to the pedestal, eyeing the relic. Her viewers kept pushing: “Touch it!” “Prove it’s not cursed!” She couldn’t resist the spike in engagement, the thrill of attention drawing her in.
Ignoring Tariq’s worried expression, she reached out.
Her fingertip brushed the cold surface.
At first, nothing happened.
“See, guys?” she said, exaggerating her cheerfulness. “No curse, no explosi—”
The wind shifted. A low hum, barely noticeable, filled the ruins. Tariq froze, whispering something in a language Iris didn’t understand. A faint tremor rippled under her feet, and the cicadas went silent.
Her phone screen flickered. The chat exploded: “What’s happening?!” “Did anyone else see that?!” “Her eyes looked weird for a moment!” Iris glanced at her reflection on the phone’s screen—just a blur of her startled face. For a moment, doubt gnawed at her, a creeping unease
she couldn’t shake. Was it a glitch, or something more? The air felt colder, and her instincts screamed that something had changed. For a second, she thought her eyes gleamed gold.
She pressed the phone against her chest, heart pounding, and forced a laugh. “Technical difficulties, folks. We’re out in the wilderness, after all!” Her voice cracked, but she quickly recovered. “That’s enough ancient curses for one day. Stay tuned for more adventures tomorrow!”
She ended the stream before Tariq could say anything and shoved her phone into her bag.
“People love bizarre energy,” she muttered defensively, avoiding his disapproving look as they left the site.
Back at her hotel, her phone lit up with notifications. Clips from her stream were already trending. Hashtags like #AwakenedGoddess and #RelicChallenge were spreading across social media. While some viewers were skeptical, others were thrilled by the eerie energy she had
captured.
“Look at those engagement metrics,” Iris muttered, torn between awe and dread. Her follower count had skyrocketed in the hours since the stream. She tapped a highly viewed clip shared by an unfamiliar account. In the clip, her audience pointed out things she hadn’t noticed during the broadcast.
Near the end, as she turned away from the relic, the light around her had dimmed inexplicably.
The hum seemed to form a faint whisper of her name: Iris.
Her phone screen suddenly glitched to static. She tapped it, frowning. When it came back on, the background image had changed to an abstract design of glowing golden eyes.
“What the…” She tried to fix it, but the image stayed no matter what she did. Out of the corner of her eye, her reflection in the mirror flickered unnaturally, like something had moved behind her.
She spun around. Nothing there.
Across town, Phoebe, Iris’s rival, lounged in her studio. Her assistant scrolled through their feed, stopping on one of Iris’s clips. “Look at this, Phoebe,” she said, showing the phone. “It’s everywhere. Iris touched some relic at a site, and now people are obsessed with this goddess thing.”
Phoebe grabbed the phone, her eyes narrowing as she watched the clip. The hum, the flickering light—it all seemed like a stunt. Her lip curled.
“Well, isn’t she just the queen of fake drama.”
Her assistant hesitated. “Some people think… it’s real.”
Phoebe’s eyes sparkled with disdain and determination. “Perfect. If Iris thinks she can corner the market on spooky goddess nonsense, she’s wrong. Prepare the studio—we’re going live.”
Back in her hotel room, Iris sat on the bed, scrolling through overwhelming notifications. Amid the thousands of comments, one stood out: “She watches.” It repeated over and over from different accounts, all with blank profiles. Her stomach twisted as her phone buzzed again, this time with a message from an unknown account: “Appease her, or everyone will pay.”
The air felt heavy, pressing down on her chest. She tried to shake off the paranoia, telling herself it was just trolls feeding the viral sensation. Still, she couldn’t ignore the faint whispers at the edge of her hearing, like forgotten melodies from a dream.
She called Tariq. He answered, his voice tense. “I told you not to touch the relic,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
“I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t.” He sighed, then softened. “Nyssa isn’t just a legend, Miss Iris. She’s been waiting. Her power grows with recognition. The more people speak her name, the stronger she becomes.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Iris said. “What do I do?”
There was a long pause. “Stop feeding her power. Don’t spread her story. And pray it’s not too late.”
The line went dead, leaving Iris alone. But not completely alone. That low hum was back, more persistent now, almost rhythmic.
Iris shivered despite the warm Mediterranean air. Her phone vibrated again, and more comments flooded in. They were getting darker, some even begging her to return to the site.
Amid the chaos, a few stood out: “She sees you,” “Offer her respect,” and “The cycle has begun.” The line between fascination and genuine fear was blurring.
Her nerves snapped when a notification from Phoebe appeared on her feed.
Phoebe’s livestream was a spectacle. Dressed in a shimmering gold robe, she had transformed her studio into a mock temple. A title flashed on the screen: Conquering the Curse: The Truth About Nyssa!
“Hi, loves!” Phoebe smiled into the camera. “I’ve seen so much drama about this ‘goddess’ thing.” Her tone was sweet but condescending. “Don’t worry, I’m here to banish her once and for all!”
Iris’s blood ran cold when Phoebe revealed a replica of the relic. The comments erupted, cheering Phoebe on.
Iris’s phone vibrated with an unsettling buzz. The livestream feed flickered, and for a split second, Phoebe’s face distorted, her eyes glowing gold, just like Iris had seen in her reflection.
The glitch disappeared, leaving Phoebe oblivious but her viewers buzzing.
With a confident smirk, Phoebe raised a hammer above the fake relic. “This one’s for anyone scared of a curse! Say goodbye to Nyssa!”
She swung the hammer down.
The sky above Phoebe’s studio darkened. Wind tore through the room, sending props crashing down. The livestream comments exploded: “Is this real?!” “What’s going on?!” “STOP HER!”
Phoebe backed away, her confidence crumbling. “This… is part of the show!” she stammered, but fear filled her eyes.
The lights went out, plunging the room into darkness, lit only by the eerie glow of the cameras.
And then, she appeared.
Nyssa.
Her form emerged from the storm, her skin shimmering like polished onyx, her eyes glowing gold. Tendrils of energy crackled around her. She looked at the terrified humans before her, her voice low and resonant.
“You mock me,” Nyssa said. “You turn my power into a joke. I asked for reverence. You respond with insults.”
Phoebe fell to her knees, her robe pooling around her. She tried to speak, but only a squeak came out.
The crowd scattered, but the streams kept rolling, broadcasting Nyssa’s wrath. The comments spiraled into chaos, some disbelieving, others declaring the end of days. #NyssaUnleashed trended instantly.
And then, through the crowd, Iris appeared.
Iris pushed through the mob, her heart pounding. She didn’t know what she was doing, only that she had to stop this.
“Nyssa!” she called out, her voice shaky but loud enough to cut through the noise.
The goddess turned, her eyes locking onto Iris. “You dare address me again, mortal? After what you have done?”
Iris’s knees felt weak, but she stepped forward. “Yes,” she said, her voice steadier. “Because this is my fault. Not hers. Mine.”
Nyssa tilted her head, the wind dying down. “Speak, then. Explain yourself.”
Iris took a deep breath. The crowd and the millions watching faded away. All that mattered was the goddess in front of her.
“I was careless,” she said, her voice raw. “I didn’t respect you. I just wanted attention. I made you a joke.”
She glanced at Phoebe, trembling on the ground. The digital world—her world—felt small now, insignificant.
“I’m sorry,” Iris said. “You’re right to be angry. But please, don’t punish everyone because of me. If you need someone, take me.”
Nyssa’s eyes narrowed, and silence fell over the scene. She stared at Iris, her gaze piercing.
After a long moment, Nyssa spoke, her voice quieter but still powerful. “Few mortals take responsibility for their actions. Fewer still stand before me in humility.”
Iris held her breath, afraid to speak.
Nyssa raised her hand, and the wind swirled again. “Your world has forgotten the sacred. You spread my name without understanding. But I am not just a story to be consumed. I am eternal.”
Her eyes flared, casting patterns of fire onto the crowd. The livestream screens warped, showing visions of destruction—burning cities, crumbling monuments.
Iris fell to her knees, the weight of Nyssa’s presence overwhelming her. “Please,” she whispered. “Let us prove we can change. I can change. Just give us a chance.”
Nyssa’s gaze swept across the crowd, the cameras, the comments pouring in. “You stand at the edge of ruin,” she said. “I will grant you this chance. But know this: fail me again, and no words or sacrifices will stay my wrath.”
She looked at Iris, her expression softening slightly. “Lead your kind toward reverence for what has been forgotten. Show them how to repair what they have shattered. If you falter, my return will be swift.”
Before Iris could respond, the wind roared, and Nyssa’s form dissolved into light, disappearing into the sky. The air fell still, and the crowd slowly began to stir.
In the aftermath, Nyssa’s manifestation broke every record online. Social media became a battleground—was she real, a hoax, divine, or something else? Fear of Nyssa’s warning spread.
Iris, though, had no time for debate. Her hotel room felt suffocating under the weight of Nyssa’s words. People weren’t just watching her—they were expecting her to lead. She looked at her phone, thousands of messages flooding in: offers to help, academics sharing knowledge,
environmentalists wanting to join her.
But there were darker messages, too—mockery, skepticism, hostility. She put the phone down, staring at the glowing image of the relic on the screen, and whispered, “What if I’m not enough?”
Weeks later, Iris stood at the archaeological site, now protected by a campaign: Preserve the Past, Protect the Future. Volunteers had come forward to restore the ruins, working with experts. Local officials, pushed by the attention, had committed to new preservation laws.
Standing beside Tariq, she felt a strange sense of relief. He still seemed wary, but moments of working together had softened his gaze. “I still don’t trust your kind,” he said as they cleared debris. “But there is something different about you now. Perhaps even Nyssa saw it.”
Iris didn’t reply, her mind focused on the work ahead. She crouched near the pedestal, her fingers brushing the ground but never touching the relic. She could feel it—a faint, steady hum.
“She’s watching,” she whispered.
“She always will,” Tariq said, his grip tightening on his tools.
Tory Hart crafts immersive tales of magic, mystery, and adventure, blending intricate worlds with unforgettable characters. Specializing in fantasy, paranormal romance, and dark fiction, Tory invites readers to step through the portal and explore realms where anything is possible. Find out more at the Riftwalkers Radio YouTube channel! https://www.youtube.com/@RiftwalkersRadio
© 2024 – Ryan Meashaw
