Read Fiction Vortex - July 2013 Page 1




  Fiction Vortex

  A Speculative Fiction Typhoon

  July 2013

  Volume 1, Issue 3

  Edited by Dan Hope

  Copyright 2013 Fiction Vortex

  Cover Image by David Revoy / Blender Foundation

  Cover design by Dan Hope

  Website: FictionVortex.com

  Twitter: @FictionVortex

  Facebook: FictionVortex

  Table of Contents

  Letter from the Editor

  Short Stories

  Fair Godmum — by Jessica Barone

  The Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists — by Ahimsa Kerp (1st Place)

  Spirit Messages — by Betsy Streeter

  A Midsummer Night's Curse — by Laura Garrison

  Past Another Sky — by Scott Birrenkott (2nd Place)

  Ammyland — by Forrest Johnson (3rd Place)

  What the Butler Didn't See — by Teel James Glenn

  Lure — by Regina Swanson

  Controlled — by Elisa Nuckle

  Book Reviews

  Red Rising — by Pierce Brown

  About Fiction Vortex

  Letter from the Editor

  Science fiction and fantasy are such broad genres that they mean something different to every person you ask. Well, except for literary snobs; they're remarkably uniform in their opinions of genre fiction. It seems to me that they wouldn't pass muster with their beloved Holden Caulfield, but maybe that's a conversation for another day.

  The diversity of subgenres is what makes sci-fi and fantasy so cool (aside from lasers and spaceships, dragons and wizards, psychopaths and world destruction, etc.). There's something for nearly everyone.

  We strive to show this breadth of ideas in our stories, which is why we're so excited about this issue. It continues our trend of publishing great fiction, but it also introduces a few new subgenres that we haven't published yet. We've got our first truly high fantasy tale, our first fractured fairytale, our first steampunk story, and our first space western.

  That's enough subgenre to kill a Tartellonelionicate Mega-Aardvark.

  So sit back and enjoy the smorgasbord of science fiction and fantasy. And don't forget to pat your back on our behalf. No, pat your back, not our behalf. We don't like it when people touch our behalf, anyway. You're the reason we do this, and the reason we're still going. So thanks for your support, and look for more great fiction next month.

  Vortexical Wishes and Cyclonic Dreams,

  Dan Hope

  Managing Editor, Voice of Reason

  Fiction Vortex

  (Back to Table of Contents)

  Short Stories

  Fair Godmum — by Jessica Barone

  The Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists — by Ahimsa Kerp (1st Place)

  Spirit Messages — by Betsy Streeter

  A Midsummer Night's Curse — by Laura Garrison

  Past Another Sky — by Scott Birrenkott (2nd Place)

  Ammyland — by Forrest Johnson (3rd Place)

  What the Butler Didn't See — by Teel James Glenn

  Lure — by Regina Swanson

  Controlled — by Elisa Nuckle

  (Back to Table of Contents)

  Fair Godmum

  by Jessica Barone; published July 2, 2013

  For all her serene glances to the jury, Samantha Selwyn was beginning to bubble underneath. Standing on trial had become a bore to her, having made a habit of it in the recent centuries, and she was growing impatient with the judge’s questioning:

  “Paragraph 142, clause 3, are you familiar with it?”

  “Exclusively so,” Samantha sniffed.

  “Care to recite it?” Judge Forest prompted.

  “…‘Thou shalt wax thy wand every fortnight?‘”

  “‘All wand-wielding sectors act within best interest of clients.’”

  A rustle passed through the jury. The rosewood courtroom curved all the jury members into a circle, perched high above and looking down long noses expectantly.

  “I could argue each of my client’s cases,” Samantha sniffed.

  “Little Red was in your custody.”

  “I gave her a red coat so she could easily be spotted in dense forests.”

  “She was eaten by a wolf.”

  “She got back out.” Samantha rolled her eyes.

  “You put Sleeping Beauty into a coma.”

  “That was a necessity. She’d never meet a prince if she kept yapping.”

  “I recall Snow White being a similar catastrophe.”

  “No, no, she was a workaholic. A long sleep did her good.”

  “And dressing like a peasant to sell that Jack boy confiscated Sector 23 beans was a good deed as well, eh?”

  Samantha twirled her wand. “I believe Jack and his mother are living quite comfortably on their newfound fortune these days.”

  One of the jury members leaned over the edge of balcony, barking, “Enough!”

  Another jury member, a Dwarf, grumbled, “She’s off ‘er hinges, she is.”

  Judge Forest waved a great hand, stomped a heavy Faun hoof to settle the courtroom, and continued, “Samantha Selwyn, you have yet to complete a Case of the Misfortunate without causing discord, or critical injury.”

  Good old Chaucer stood up beside Samantha, pushing glasses up the ridge of his nose with long Druid fingers. “Keep in mind, Your Honor, that every single one of Selwyn’s CMs has been approved by your hand,” he said in a calming tone. Samantha cast him a sly, satisfied look.

  “Not without hesitation, Mr. Chaucer,” the Judge said. “I refuse to put future lives at risk.”

  “Meaning what?” Samantha was indignant.

  Judge Forest collected the stack of scrolls piled in front of him. “I declare a new jury session to be held within two weeks, in decision of revoking Ms. Selwyn’s wand license and relocation to a different department of the Magical Bureau.”

  Samantha clutched her wand to her lacy bosom. “Your Honor!”

  “Judge Forest, I urge you to reconsider the sentence.” Chaucer let worry color his voice for the first time.

  “The hearing will be in two weeks,” Forest repeated. “Until then, court adjourned.” The Judge banged his heavy gavel, and Samantha jumped, still clinging to her silver-tipped wand.

  The violet-robed Dwarfs, Fairies, and the like shuffled and huffed their way down from the balcony benches and crowded out. Samantha stared blankly ahead of her until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look up at Chaucer, who smiled down weakly at her. They were the last two in the torch-lit courtroom.

  “It’s not final, Sam,” he offered, twitching a tanned nose in a shrug.

  Samantha nodded and let out a little sigh, smoothing down her petticoats.

  “Scones?” he suggested.