The Indie Collaboration Presents
Spectacular Tales II
Another thrilling anthology of short stories by some of the rising stars in independent publishing. In this second collection of short Speculative Fiction we bring you another treasure chest of great Science Fiction and Fantasy. Here you will find stories of intergalactic policemen, virtual soldiers, spirited princesses, lonesome spacemen and even megalomaniac dogs and kleptomaniac goats.
So dust off your old suit of armour and grab your blaster pistol and come join us in exploring more ‘Spectacular Tales’.
ISBN: 9781310647154
Edited by Chris P. Raven and Dani J Caile
Copyright retained by the Authors
Cover Art by Book Birdy Designs
The Indie Collaboration grew out of a group of independent authors who decided to show the world how great works of fiction can be, without the involvement of any large publishing companies, by creating a direct channel between themselves and their readers. Each author in this anthology has freely donated their time and work and are committed to the Indie Collaboration's cause:
“We offer the best of indie writing in bite size pieces and wherever possible, for free.”
We hope you enjoy our books.
If you did, then please leave a review where you purchased it.
CONTENTS
Chaos on Cass (Part One)
by Chris Raven
The Merging of Thear’s Two Moons
by Regina Puckett
Red Mood Rising
by Ray Foster
The Story of the Goat who gets the Gold
by Kalyan Mattaparthi
Chaos on Cass (Part Two)
by Chris Raven
Outpost 223
by Dani J Caile
Ufburk: The Demoki (Part One)
by Donny Swords
Cudlee (The Revelation)
By James Gordon
Chaos on Cass (Part Three)
by Chris Raven
First Person
by Peter John
Ufburk: The Demoki (Part Two)
by Donny Swords
The Serpent Bearer and the Prince of Stars
by C. S. Johnson
Chaos on Cass (Part Four)
by Chris Raven
About The Authors
Other Publications by The Indie Collaboration
Chaos on Cass
By Chris Raven
Part One: Arrival
Cass III (The Third Planet of the Eta Cassiopeiae System, 20LY from Sol and held in fealty to the Terran Star Empire by the Imperial House of Lein Rocha)
The Interrogator
Machinegun fire ricochets above my head. I'm pinned down behind this low brick wall. It borders an old Earth oak tree of all things. I guess it's an oak, only ever seen them in vids. The would-be assassins are using slug throwers. Slug throwers! Real archaic trajectory weapons, how quaint. Better not underestimate them though, my laser pistol has the advantage of range and accuracy but I still need to aim. The three masked assassins across the street? All they have to do is keep the lead coming and besides, slugs are just so damned messy.
"Bloody terrorists again, eh Jorich?" I look into my partner's dark green eyes, they stare lifelessly back up at me. Dead at last the poor Bastard.
Eight hours earlier
Captain Harford Beydo watched with barely hidden contempt as the shuttle touched down on the spaceport’s blast scarred landing strip. Lieutenant Vasco Higani stood silently beside him in the first class observation lounge and knew better than to comment, especially when the Captain was in one of his moods. Beydo had been chief of police on Eta Cassiopeiae for the past three years, when the rich garden world had been granted to House Lien Rocha by Emperor Lexomede A’juan on Terra. House Orenstein, who had previously held the system and its lucrative third planet, had temporarily fallen from grace and losing the food production contract on Cass III had been old Oberon Orenstein’s punishment.
Standard procedure dictated that all key administrative posts were filled by Lein Rochan representatives of Executive or Nobel class and Beydo had arrived from Alpha Centari IV, the Lein Rochan homeworld, to replace the outgoing Orenstein Chief of Police. Higani, a native Cassian and graduate of the Imperial Guild of Psions, had been allowed to stay on in his post of lieutenant. He had come to know Beydo quite well over the past three years and had found him to be an effective, if temperamental leader, strict but thankfully able to prioritize law enforcement over politics, something his predecessor had not been able to do.
Higani could feel the frustration and anger radiating from his superior’s psyche. The Captain had always been an open book to Higani, despite his attempts to block him out. He assumed the Captain’s background never fully equipped him with the cultural and emotional discipline needed to hide emotions. It was common knowledge that Beydo had worked his way up from very humble roots, both socially and professionally, attaining Executive Status and the responsibility for an entire world’s law enforcement. He was clearly unhappy that Central Government had sent an agent from the Specialist Assignments Unit and he was likely to view the interference as a slight due to his Worker Class background.
Glancing back at the shuttle, Higani watched the forward access ramp lower and noted two motionless figures at the top, amid the crew’s flurry of movement as they prepared for disembarkation. They stood in the standard dark formal suits expected of plain-clothed agents, the larger of the two shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight after close to three weeks under artificial light. The other appeared shorter, though it was difficult to tell from a distance as he stood slightly hunched, shielding his face with a wide brimmed hat as he tried to light a nictostick in the brisk morning wind.
“The bastard's 'ave sent two of 'em,” Beydo complained angrily.
"No," Higani said thoughtfully, "The big man, he's muscle, bodyguard probably. The other man, he's the one you'll need to watch. Beydo grunted while Higani pointed out the rifle case the big man carried as the pair started to walk down the ramp.
"Come," Beydo ordered, turning to face the lounge door, “We'll meet 'em back at headquarters.”
The Interrogator
The assassins thankfully botched their initial attack and missed me totally. Jorich was not so lucky, the slugs from all three machine guns spun him across the walkway like a scrunched up Happy Snax wrapper. I managed to dive behind this wall leaving Jorich sprawled out on his back, out in the open and just out of reach. There was nothing I could do but hunch down and escape this barrage of metal, brick and wood-chip. Strange isn't it, how time slows in situations like this. Was it really only seconds ago that I watched my partner's laboured breathing? Watched helplessly as it brought blood gurgling and foaming up over his quivering lips as he slowly bled out across the street.
Eight hours earlier
Sam watched Jorich chew the side of his index finger as they walked down the ramp. In his free hand, he carried the rifle case containing his favourite blaster. Sam had to grin and shaking his head, he told the big man that he should have left his rifle with the rest of their luggage.
"You know me better than that," his partner replied, "Anyway, I don't trust this place, I mean look at that." Sam enjoyed Jorich's disgust at the police transport that awaited them at the foot of the ramp, “I mean, it’s got wheel’s, it’s a bloody a ground car."
“This is a backwater planet Jorich." Sam's placating nasal voice did little to improve his partner's mood, “Low population, and only one city to speak of. There’s probably not much in way of tech, no
t outside of food production at any rate.”
“Humph!” Jorich grunted, “Then why are we here?” Sam suggested the usual... politics.
“I bet they got a VTOL someplace. It’s a bloody liberty, that’s what it is.”
The Interrogator
"How long?" I subvocalize into my imbedded jaw mic.
"ETA three minutes," a controller's measured voice replies, causing my skull to slightly vibrate behind my right ear.
"I might not have that long."
The terrorists are out of time, they have to act now, press the attack or withdraw before the SNAP squad arrives. What they do next will tell me something about who these assassins are. Fanatics, driven by ideology and purpose, will press the attack. Professionals, on the other hand, will withdraw now, while they still can and regroup to live and try another day. I hope for the latter as I will surely not survive a direct attack on my own. I might take out one or two but the third will no doubt survive to kill me.
Six hours earlier
Beydo sat at his desk in shirt sleeves and made no attempt at courtesy. He ignored the smaller man’s hand when he offered it and stared up at his newly arrived guests in smug defiance. The big man barely noticed, he just casually looked around, the rifle bag still tightly gripped in his gorilla like fist. Higani knew what he was, his surface thoughts confirmed what the man's build and demeanour had already suggested. He would mention it to Beydo later. The other man, to his credit, was able to hold The Captains gaze. He was almost as tall as his partner but hid it well behind a stooped posture. Higani suspected he wasn't as physically weak as his countenance suggested. There was something of the weasel about him, Higani thought, as he watched him hold The Captain's gaze with dark intelligent eyes. He was middle aged, with dark thinning hair, a long rat like face and small piercing eyes. The man spoke mainly through his nose, his voice high pitched, almost a whine as he introduced himself as Specialist Agent Samet Dapes. His partner was just Jorich. Higani noted that Dapes was extremely calm, despite Beydo’s provocation. There was also a lack of emotional bleed that only came with formal training and absolute discipline.
"So Captain," The weasel continued pleasantly, "how can we help?"
The Interrogator
A lull in gun fire. They've messed up. All reloading at once, I hope. I stand, aim and fire. One is running, one is reloading and one is standing still, a neat hole between her eyes, the scarf that had hidden her nose and mouth slowly unwraps and falls to the ground. No blood, the wound cauterized by the laser. Her companion looks at me and raises his weapon, a split second distraction as he sees his compatriot sink to her knees. That split second is enough. He drops the machine gun as his right arm falls limp and useless at his side, the shoulder destroyed by three grouped laser holes. I break cover and walk toward my attackers. The fleeing assassin is almost at the corner. A kneecap explodes out from a laser shot to the back of his leg. He falls, weapon clattering to the ground out of reach. The second assassin is clumsily scrambling for his weapon with his offhand now, I don’t need both of them alive so he is neatly taken out with a head shot. The third assassin loses his other good knee and collapses around the corner almost out of sight. I watch his useless legs slowly disappear as the poor bastard tries to drag himself away. No rush, he's not going anywhere fast.
Five hours earlier
Sam sat in the back of the police transport as it sped along the freeway towards the city's affluent suburbs. Jorich sat next to him, gazing absent minded out of the window, rifle case held firmly on his lap. They were travelling fast along the express lane reserved for diplomats, politicians and emergency vehicles. Not quite in the farming districts, the scenery was mainly billboards and the occasional glimpse of a tenement block.
"Nice town," Jorich observed as his head slowly turned with each billboard as they passed, "quiet, not too grimy, this should be a cake run." Sam wasn't so sure.
Slowly the billboards and buildings thinned out and the two agents found themselves glimpsing patches of green as they passed woodland, field and Municipal Park. Side roads branched off left and right, each one leading off to semi-automated farm complexes or large and gaudy mansions.
The mansions belonging to the rich and famous of Cass III were all ornate and unique expressions of wealth and status. Sam hated them. To his 'core world' sensitivities, they all looked provincial and vulgar.
"That one looks like a castle," Jorich said, almost excitedly, "It's got turrets and everything."
"Yes Jorich how wonderful for you," Sam was instantly annoyed at himself for his patronising tone. The big man didn't seem to notice. It wasn't the great lummox’s fault, it was just the way he was made. Sam usually welcomed the brute's naive simplicity, finding it refreshing, especially in their line of work. "And look there Jorich," Sam softly added, sincere now, no longer ridiculing, "That one is made of glass, it is completely transparent."
"I wouldn't like that," The big man snorted, "I like a bit of privacy when I'm having a shit."
Regardless of design and individualism, each mansion had one thing in common, large landscaped gardens behind high ironstone walls with tall foreboding plexisteel gates. The transport veered left and took a side road up towards one of those gates.
The Interrogator
I guess it's the adrenaline, I didn't hear the sirens, the screech of tires on tarmac, not until now, not until I hear somebody calling my name.
"Agent Dapes! Hold up please.”
I turn. It is that supercilious Esper Lieutenant. He asks me what happened. I shrug and tell him we were ambushed. I continue towards the corner knowing he will follow. He asks how this could have happened. I shrug again. That is of course the same question playing on my mind. Why here? Why now? Who knew we were going to be here, without back-up at this precise time. I ask the Esper those very questions. He says he doesn't know and pretends not to understand what it is I am really inferring. The hidden question. Who's the traitor in his department?
We reach the corner. I am impressed, the assassin has crawled further than I had expected. He looks back at me over his shoulder, mask discarded. I can almost taste his fear. No real need for accuracy now, not at this range. I look at the Esper, hold eye contact as I alter my laser pistol's lens setting to a wide beam. I breathe slowly, making myself calm, I clear my mind. I don't want him to read me, I want to appear cold, as emotionless as stone. I want this man to understand what it is I am. Scare him, make him drop his guard.
I turn and fire. The assassin's right foot disintegrates. I suspect he has fainted, he had looked close to it. I did not wait to see, I have already turned back to look at the Esper's shocked face, colour draining from his thin face. I allow a thin smile. I've got him. He knows something about that man.
"We need to get him back for questioning," I tell him.
To be continued.
© 2015 Chris Raven
The Merging of Thear’s Two Moons
Regina Puckett
May the union of Zosarah and Oxseth bring the warring moons of Picexan and Zo together in peace forever and always.
Zosarah
“I thought I would find you here.”
Zosarah tightened the strap on her dardlizz’s saddle before looking up at her mother. She needed that extra time to rein in her anger. After all, it wasn’t her mother’s fault she had been sacrificed to stop a war between Picexan and Zo, but while she understood the need for the treaty and the forced marriage to a man she had never met before, it still irked that her father had done so without first consulting her. Of course, the outcome would still have been the same, but she might not have felt so utterly betrayed by his decision to barter his only child like mere livestock.
“I thought I would make use of what little freedom I have left.” A note of bitterness crept into her last few words. Zosarah bowed her head so her mother wouldn’t see the unwelcome tears.
“Your father’s worried you now hate him. I reassured him you understand your duty to the people o
f Picexan.” Queen Bethelisa placed her hand over the one Zosarah had rested on her dardlizz’s neck.
Her mother’s ice cold touch did nothing to relieve Zosarah’s anxiety, but she met Queen Bethelisa’s eyes with a confidence she far from felt. “Of course I will. It’s what we royals always do after all, isn’t it? We serve our subjects and do what is best for them. I know my duty, Mother. I just don’t like it.”
“Maybe when you say those same words to your father later, you’ll sound more sincere than you do now.” Even though Queen’s Bethelisa’s voice was firm, her eyes held only kindness and understanding for her daughter’s predicament. “My only consolation is that you will only be a day’s journey away. Though I knew this day would come, I still find myself unprepared to have you even that small distance from me.”
Zosarah resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Even though the queen was her mother, she was still the queen. Besides, maybe there was still a slight chance of changing her father’s mind. It might work to her favor to play the ever-obedient daughter.
“What do you know of this Zoan you have pledged me to?” How could her parents have bartered her away to such a barbaric realm? “I always thought, even if I never loved who I was bound to, that at least I might one day come to love him. How will that be possible when I’ll be caged for the rest of my life, as if I’m some lowly beast?” She patted her dardlizz’s purple leathery neck. Its rough feel matched her cantankerous mood. She had no intention of being caged for the people of Picexan or for her father.
Much to Zosarah’s surprise, her mother laughed.
“You still believe in that myth? Those tales of the Zoan are only told as a way of keeping Picexan children in check.” The queen crossed her arms. Now nearing dusk, ice shards had begun to fill the air and a few had settled on the ends of her long green hair. They sparkled in the fading light. “The Zoans are just as civilized as the Picexans.”
“Then why are we heading toward a war with them?” As long as Zosarah could remember, they had always been on the verge of it with the Zoan’s.
“Because both the Zoans and the Picexans can be stubborn and hardheaded.” The queen let out a long and weary sigh. “Your father hopes your marriage to King Oxseth will settle the matter once and for all. No king wants unrest. Your father knows, even though you can be temperamental and hardheaded, that you can also be kind and endearing. He hopes the Zoan’s will love you just as much as our own people do.”
The huge dardlizz stomped its rear feet – a warning it was tiring of standing in one place for too long.
Zosarah patted its neck and placed her foot in the stirrup. “I promise I’ll be back in time for tonight’s marriage announcement.” The last thing she wanted was to miss meeting her soon to be mate. There were a few things she needed to get straightened out before the vow ceremony.
“Don’t be late, and do something with your hair before you make an appearance at court.” Queen Bethelisa stepped back from the dardlizz, wary of its ten razor sharp wings. Zosarah’s dardlizz was well-trained to keep them at rest until otherwise instructed, but it was, after all, a wild beast at heart.
Zosarah mounted, anxious to get out of the stuffy stall and to feel the Picexan’s cold, ice-filled air against her pale green skin. The pain would remind her she wasn’t dead yet, that there was still time to figure a way out of her predicament.
“I promise to be so beautiful that the King of Zo will weep from want.”
“Well spoken, Daughter. I always knew you would make a great queen one day.” Bethelisa moved to leave but paused long enough to add, “One day, the Zoan’s will love you so much they’ll forget they ever hated the people of Picexan.”
Zosarah laughed. “I’m afraid that you and my father’s love has put the very survival of Picexan and Zo on my shoulders. I’m not certain I’m worthy of such trust, or if I’m up to such an enormous task.”
“It will give you something to think about while you’re out riding.”
“And all I wanted to do was to forget everything for a little while.” For a moment Zosarah couldn’t breathe. Her parents were expecting too much of her. Was she really unselfish enough to throw her life away for her people?
She pressed her heels into the flanks of the dardlizz and tried to blank out her fears for a while. Only time would tell what her future would hold.
Oxseth
“Stand still. You’re making me dizzy.”
“I bloody well won’t stand still until I see the wench my father has betrothed me to.” Oxseth pulled at his freshly pressed collar and fought the urge to jump on his gleae and fly as far away as soon as he could from this ice filled moon. How could anyone stand these shards of ice floating through the air they breathed? The Zosarahs must be the toughest race he had even met. How was he supposed to mate with such a creature?
Oxseth shuddered. Every time he shook hands with King Lilipph it took ages for his own to warm up again. How was he supposed to bed a wife who had ice running through her veins?
All out of patience, Oxseth’s valet threw down his clothing brush. “Fine. Go out looking like a peasant. You’ve only yourself to blame.”
“Maybe I’ll be so hideous the king’s daughter will refuse me a union.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I’ll be so obnoxious and boorish she will refuse me.”
Oxseth slapped his leg. “There’s got to be a better way to settle our disagreement than joining my life to one of these cold-blooded, barbaric people.”
“If you didn’t want to marry the king’s daughter, then why did you agree to go along with his idea in the first place? I’m certain the two of you could have found a way of lessening tension between our peoples besides a bonding with his daughter. It’s never been done before, you know. What if you can’t produce an heir with her?”
Oxseth duly noted that his longtime valet and friend had enough common sense to take a step back – just enough to be safely out of harm’s way. It was tempting to backhand Retwal for reminding him of his most recent error in judgement. Oxseth hated to admit that his friend had a good point. What if this coupling didn’t produce an heir, and how could it? The Picexan’s were cold-blooded and the Zoan’s warm. And how did this whole coupling thing work with a Picexan anyway? He was going to look a bloody fool if he did the wrong thing.
“Bloody hell,” and Oxseth sat on the nearest surface.
“What’s wrong now?” Retwal came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please tell me you’re not going to lose your meal, not so soon before meeting your new mate to be?”
Oxseth pushed Retwal’s hand away and stood. “Let’s just get this over with. If she turns out to be some hideous creature, we’ll make a run for our gleaes and prepare for war.”
“You would draw your subjects into a war for such a selfish reason?”
“Of course not, but for a moment the thought of running away like a coward lifted my spirits.” He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Some days I wish I had been born a commoner.”
“You know as well as I do that wishes are only for fools, and not for kings.”
Oxseth nodded. “Knowing it and accepting it are two entirely different things, my friend.”
Zosarah
Even after an icy cold, refreshing shower, piling her long green hair on top of her head so her slender neck would be shown at its best and dressed in her prettiest gown, Zosarah still felt unprepared to face her future mate. The long flight through Picexan’s darkening skies had done nothing to settle her nerves, but somewhere during that much needed get away she had decided to do as her father wished. How would she ever live with herself if her subjects had to go to war just because she didn’t want to do her duty? It was why she had been born, to carry on her father’s work. She had always thought that meant she would rule over Picexan, but instead, she would be living out her remaining days on its twin moon. How many times through her childhood had her father told her life wasn’t fair. Such si
mple words that had held no real meaning until today.
Straightening her shoulders, Zosarah looked at her reflection one last time before running for the door. Her mother was going to kill her. She was already late to her own party. Her mother was at this very moment probably thinking she had run away. It was a wonder the queen hadn’t already sent someone out looking for her. No matter. She was a fast runner. With any luck she would make it to the grand hall before scouts were sent out to drag her there like some wayward child.
Zosarah bound down the hallway and out into the courtyard, as if the fiery creatures from the underworld were nipping at her heels. She was running so fast when a tall figure stepped out directly into her path, that she had no other choice but to plow right into it. She would have fallen if two steel-like hands hadn’t grabbed her shoulders and steadied her.
Too embarrassed to do anything, Zosarah stepped back and stared at her feet. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. My mother keeps telling me I have the grace of an elkle. I guess she’s right.”
A blue hand lifted Zosarah’s chin, large blue eyes staring down at her. She again took a step back. “Thank you for your help, but my mother’s going to have me flayed if I don’t arrive soon.”
Zosarah offered her hand to the huge Zoan. Could this be the man she was betrothed to? She swallowed past a lump in her throat. He was enormous. One swipe from his hand would surely kill her. While that thought should have frightened her, it did the opposite. A thrill of excitement ran through her as an unbidden picture flashed into her mind: his hands roving all over her.
She must have made some sort of sound because he stepped nearer and asked, “Are you hurt?”
Fortunately, before she could further embarrass herself, her mother’s voice cut through the tense air. “So there you are, Daughter. I see you and King Oxseth have finally met.”
There was something very satisfying about the stranger’s surprised but pleased expression. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be as awful as Zosarah had at first feared.
The Merging of Two Moons
“Are you running away from your marriage vows so soon?”
Zosarah paused, mid-step. Her internal argument lasted only a second before she gathered the gilded sheer layers of her gown and turned. After so many years of practicing diplomacy, it was easy to smile even when she didn’t feel like it.
“I’m going to ride my dardlizz before the air becomes too thick with ice. Being a wife is new to me. I’m not used to asking permission before doing something so simple.”
“Is it the custom of your world to ask your husband’s permission before each and every decision?”
Icy fog hazily surrounded the newly married couple and settled on the outer layers of their clothes, and at the ends of Zosarah’s long green hair. The ice shards on her hands reflected the flames of nearby lanterns. Even that brilliant sight, though, was nothing to compare to the spark of rebellion in her eyes.
Zosarah crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Of course not, but it’s my understanding that it is customary on Zo, and that all wives are kept locked in cages. I wanted one night of freedom before that became my fate.”
Oxseth leaned forward, his face now just inches from hers. “The people of Zo cherish their women and children.”
Something about his gentle tone caused her to relax her stance. “Would you like to ride along with me? I have heard many tales of how fast your gleaes can fly.”
“That is what you wish to do on your wedding night? I can think of better things.”
Zosarah’s shrug was casual but her smile was filled with mischief. “There will be time enough to consummate our vows. We know so little of one another. If we don’t trust each other than how will our people learn to trust the two of us to rule over them? I was thinking, perhaps, of a small challenge we could have between us, one that would help build some much needed faith in each other.”
Oxseth shifted closer and placed a callused blue hand on her arm. “A challenge?”
She didn’t shrug his hand off, but moved away enough that it fell of its own accord. “A race. If I win, I may pull a feather from the plumage of your gleae. If you win, you may ask for anything you desire.”
His expression darkened. “You know so little about the nature of gleaes. They are vain beasts. If you were to win, my gleae would slice through me with its stinger. As my wife, how could you wish such a horrible death on me? Hours of unrelenting agony before I would die from its venom.”
This time Zosarah was the one to move closer. She placed a hand on that of her new mate. “Trust me.”
Oxseth bowed his head as he considered her challenge. He finally met her eyes and nodded. “Lead the way. You set the rules, and we’ll see which one of us will win this race of yours. I always do what is best for my people, and now I’ll also do what is best for you and the people of Picexan.”
As soon as they were on their beasts and into the air, Zosarah pointed toward the edge of her kingdom. “The winner will be the first one to reach the darkness beyond the city’s walls.”
Oxseth eyed the great distance before sitting up straighter in his saddle, his face filled with confidence. “I hope you are well-rested, my love, because I will soon claim my prize.”
His words sent a thrill through her, and so Zosarah bowed her head to keep him from reading her thoughts. She hoped he would think it meant she had already accepted defeat, not that she was looking forward to their first coupling. Shaking off her weakness at the thought, she lightly tapped her dardlizz’s flanks. It immediately raised all ten of its wings and leapt higher into the air, cutting through the shards of ice around them as it raced toward the city’s dark edge. She was there first and tugged on its reins, soon speeding back toward Oxseth. Before he could do a thing, she plucked the longest feather from his gleae’s plumage. As expected, it lashed out and struck Oxseth with its powerful stinger.
She caught him before he could fall from his saddle and tucked him in front of her, whispering in his ear, “You have much to learn about me, my dear mate. I’m amazed at how much I’m looking forward to teaching you how to please a Picexan.”
Hours later, she sat poised on the railing of their marriage bed.
Oxseth moaned and opened one eye. “I am not dead!”
“You’re not.”
He struggled to sit up but finally gave in and settled his head onto his pillow. “I don’t understand.”
“A dardlizz possesses an anti-venom for a gleae’s sting. It will reverse the effects of its poison within a matter of a few hours. I set up this challenge so you would know you can always trust me with your life. The people of Zo and Picexan have no reason not to trust us to lead them. We can work together in all things, and we will always do what is right for us and for them.”
Ozseth lifted himself onto his elbow and quirked an eyebrow. “Shall we race again?”
She stood and slipped the long layers of her silk gown over her head. The garment dropped, pooling around her bare feet. “Is that what you wish to do on your wedding night? I can think of better things.”
The End
© 2015 Regina Puckett
Red Moon Rising
By Ray Foster
Under a clear blue sky the landscape hummed with the soft sounds of insects. Somewhere, in the lush green grass crickets clicked, bees buzzed amongst the cornflowers while dragonflies hovered over the reeds that grew from the small stream that ran parallel to the empty road.
For a brief moment of time the natural sounds seemed to stop and hold its breath in anticipated expectation. Then the silence was broken by a distant hum that grew in volume to a raw powered roar as the customised Harley Davidson trike crested the rise.
The sun struck the brilliant chrome sparking out slivers of silver that speckled the road and grass verge. Nature returned to its natural chorus now joined by the soft clicking of the cooling engine.
The black clad rider absorbed all this in as he slipped
a battered cheroot from the top pocket of his leather jacket and slid it, thoughtfully, between his lips before applying the flame from a red, disposable lighter to the tip.
Through narrowed eyes he peered beyond the haze of swirling blue smoke at the scene before him. He traced the gentle curve of black tarmac until it disappeared behind the bulk of a small church that dominated the bend. Opposite the tall stack of a former tin or copper mine stood guard at the cliff’s edge below which, just visible, was a hint of green blue sea.
From this vantage point he could see the remains of a community that had once thrived here – all that remained were moss covered foundations of the cottages that had lined the road. Another short terrace of stone built houses peered out from behind the church.
This reverie was brought to an abrupt end as he caught sight of the corner of a car boot that was almost hidden by the chapel wall. He narrowed his eyes as he focused on the inverted ‘Y’ of the rear lights. It had been a long time since he had last seen an old Ford Cortina and curiosity made him wonder what it was doing here.
It was the little things like this that made him wary – there was the possibility of, at least, five people down there that would be interested in the contents of the box fitted at the rear of the trike. Therein lay a problem for on the one hand he needed to take a break while on the other there was always the prospect of a chase – and he did not fancy the latter.
Carefully, he slipped a sawn down shotgun from the holster tied down against his left thigh and checked the load before reaching into a saddlebag for a Colt M1911. He tucked the handgun into the belt at the small of his back then releasing the brakes he let the Harley roll, silently, down the road.
Halting close to the church door he slid from the saddle. Approaching with caution the door that stood ajar, he could hear a voice. A rough aggressive voice demanded that someone stopped struggling and whatever was happening would be over quickly. Though the demands were not polite, just a bunch of expletives and derogatory terms that were underlined by what was seen as the biker stepped inside.
On the floor was a woman with an outstretched arm scrambling weakly to reach a knife that was beyond her reach. Astride her was an assailant, trousers down to his ankles and one hand wrapped around the woman’s throat while the other ripped at her clothing.
The heavy built man had no inkling that he was being watched or that the woman had stopped struggling. He was in a world of his own as two shotgun barrels emptied their load into the side of his head. A kick of a boot sent the rest of the body to fall clear of his intended victim.
The killer emptied the shotgun, reloaded it and snapped the weapon shut. All this as his eyes looked around the church seeking signs of danger. Only when he was satisfied that there was only him did he drop to one knee beside the girl – for girl was all she seemed and one who appeared to be in her teens. Erring on the side of caution he kicked the knife further from her reach. Placing two fingers against the side of her neck he detected a pulse and a sharp slap to her face forced air into her lungs as she gulped it in. Her eyes were wide with shock as she looked, with frightened eyes, around her.
“You’re alive, kid,” he murmured as he stood up and stepped away from her.
“Wha-what happened?” she gasped, rolling over and climbing to her knees. As she moved, so the remnants of her sweat shirt fell from one arm but made no attempt to cover herself.
The biker just shrugged. “The other feller just lost his head.” Then pointed at her. “Think you might want to clean up – you’re covered in shit.”
Blank, uncomprehending eyes stared back at him.
“Shit happens when people die,” he offered by way of explanation. “There’s no dignity there.” He pointed the shotgun at the corpse. “He alone or are there more?”
She shook her head as it dawned on the girl that the man before her presented no danger to her. Glancing down she saw the blood that was splattered across her chest and the stains that had soaked into her torn, ragged jeans.
“Are you an American?” she asked, while using the remains of her sweat shirt to wipe the blood from her face and body.
“Expecting them to come to save the day?” he laughed, derisively. “Only in books and movies, kid. Besides, I reckon they’ve got their own problems or were you too busy clubbing to watch the news?”
“No, mate,” she snapped back. “Done with that after a friend of mine with a drink problem took too many legal highs. Anyway, who watches the news anymore – all you see is the many ways that people can kill each other. No, I escaped into the pretend world of ‘Titanfall’ not that you’d know what that is.”
“What was your favourite lead-out?” he grinned. “Mine was the R-101C assault rifle.”
She stared at him, mouth agape as she stopped rubbing herself down.
“Problem?” he asked.
“But you’re....” she was about to point out.
“Fifty five,” he supplied. “Accounts for my greying hair but doesn’t bar me from gaming.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean....I just never thought....”
“Shut up, kid,” he said, kindly. “Just go get yourself cleaned up while I get rid of the corpse.”
For a moment he watched her pick up a back pack before she left the church to cross the road to walk down by the old mine workings. There was nothing self-conscious about her – it was as if she was used to walking around stripped to the waist. Short, slightly stocky with stark muscle definition and long black hair that tumbled with turquoise streaks over her shoulders – put him in mind of some of his favourite female wrestlers.
“By the way,” he called out. “The name’s John – John Keel.”
“Whatever,” she shrugged with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Dismissing her from his mind he got on with the task in hand. Grabbing the corpse by the legs he dragged it out of and around the church towards the small graveyard at the back. Finding a depression he left the body in it. Then set off to do a little exploration.