Stories of Hope

by Aussie Speculative Fiction

  It consumed her thoughts even as she headed along the path that led away from the Summer Palace and closer to the woods. There she caught sight of a baby deer as it wobbled on spindly legs and rabbits who played chasey with one another while birds of all colours flitted to and fro in the treetops high above, twittering loudly.

  As she went further into the woods, she came across her little sister Prue watching the hares in their frenzied madness. It happened every March like clockwork only to die down by May.

  “I see you’ve found my pets.”

  Mercy’s gaze shifted from her sister to the tall blonde woman standing a few feet away. She wore a floral tea-length dress.

  “Your pets?” Mercy repeated.

  “Yes,” she said, as confusion unfurled across Mercy’s face. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I’ve forgotten my manners. My name’s Ostara. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

  She had. Humans knew her as the Goddess of Spring. Mercy couldn’t help but wonder what the fey thought of her.

  “I have, but this is the last place I expected to find a goddess.”

  Ostara scoffed. “Humans and their need to make sense of everything. They say that the fey are no more than forgotten gods. Honestly, can you believe that? The audacity! To think that we’d ever be forgotten.”

  She could believe it actually. Humans lived such short lives in comparison to the fey that it was easy to see how they could forget such things.

  “That I’d believe,” Mercy said. “But what if I want to be forgotten?”

  “Even faerie princesses have to do things, they don’t want to do from time to time,” Ostara reminded Mercy. “Just think about all the people you’d be disappointing. The Court—”

  “I don’t care about the blasted Court,” Mercy shouted. “Let Arianna have the crown if it’s so damn important.”

  “True,” the goddess mused, “Arianna does have a claim to the throne, but she’s not you.”

  “But I don’t want it!” Mercy cried.

  “I can see that,” Ostara said in an amused tone. “But if you want my help in giving up your claim to the throne, it will cost you.”

  Blasted faeries and their damned rules. The cost would no doubt be steep, but one she was willing to pay, none the less.

  “Okay.”

  “Very well,” Ostara said. “In exchange for helping you step down from your responsibilities as the next Queen of the Seelie Court, I demand your first born.”

  “But I . . .”

  “You forget that I know your mother,” Ostara said. “She won’t take your denouncement lightly. You know that or you wouldn’t have even considered coming to me. I have some sway with the courts, more so with the Seelie Court than the Unseelie. So, I ask you once more, do you Mercy, accept my terms?”

  Mercy exhaled, biting down on her lower lip. She knew there’d be consequences. Her mother, especially, would be upset. But she wanted a life away from the rigours of Court more.

  And so, she agreed. “I accept.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: STACEY Jaine McIntosh lives in Perth, Western Australia with her husband and four children. Although her first love has always been writing, she once toyed with being a Cartographer and subsequently holds a Diploma in Spatial Information Services.

  Since 2011, she has had over thirty short stories and twenty-two poems published. Stacey is also the author of Solstice, Morrighan, Lost, Le Fay & Raven Conspiracy.

  When not with her family or writing she enjoys reading, genealogy, history, Arthurian myths and witchcraft.

  Visit her at: www.staceyjainemcintosh.com

  A Touch of Hope by Shay Laurent

  VERA STARED OUT OF her window, determined not to blink while she watched for the wood nymphs. As the sun rose above the blackened forest, Jana knocked on the door.

  “Vera, come on. Mama needs to go to the castle and we have class.”

  Ignoring her sister, Vera pressed her face to the glass and squinted, sure she’d seen something move. The first something in a long time.

  Fingers dug into her shoulders and a curse rose to her lips, stifled only by the knowledge that she would get into trouble if she uttered the words. She turned slitted eyes to Jana.

  “They’re gone, Vera, like the forest. You need to stop looking. Breakfast is ready now. We need to go.”

  The moment Jana released her to walk out the door blood flooded painfully back into her shoulder. She clasped it as her eyes moved back to the charred remains of what was once a lush and magical forest. Until the dragons had come. Vera cringed and felt tears bloom, devastated once again as she remembered the screams of the nymphs as hell had rained down upon their world. Her fingers traced the scars left on each hand from trying to find her friend that day.

  They had to come back. She needed them to reappear. Life wasn’t the same without Diana. It lacked joy. She missed dancing to the rhythm of the wind through the leaves. Not to mention someone who understood her.

  The sound of a sharp yell from down the hall ripped her violently from the memories and into the misery of her life. One last glance out the window, and she turned and went to the kitchen.

  Her mother watched her enter. “Quickly, sweetheart. I need to be at the castle very soon, we must go.”

  “VERA, EYES FRONT. YOU need to forget the Black Wood—”

  “It’s not called that,” she huffed.

  Fineas breathed slowly out of his nose and forced patience into his voice. “It is. You know this. The King decreed it so after the dragon attack. Nothing ever grows after it has been burned with their fire. You must move forward, for you cannot go back.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she bit the inside of her cheek, determined not to cry. Fineas looked as though he was going to say something else, maybe to soften the blow. But instead he sighed and moved back to the front of the classroom.

  Despite his instruction, Vera spent the rest of her lesson with her eyes on the forest and as soon as it finished, she rushed outside. Knowing that Jana would be waiting at the front entrance, she went out the back way. Looking to her left and then right along the wall, she saw no one and made a run for the forest, leaping over the larger rocks that littered her path.

  Once she’d made it one hundred paces past the tree line, she slowed her pace and looked around. There was nothing in sight but the charred remains of what used to be pure magic. Intent on continuing her search, Vera walked back towards her home through the forest, peering high and low around the trees. Watching for any sign of colour, listening for the faintest sound of life.

  Long before she’d made it back, large drops of rain began to fall. Soaking her hair and clothes, turning the ground to slush. With no treetops there was little protection from the elements.

  Vera wandered into an opening that she was sure was once the clearing she used to dance in with Diana. A smile came to her lips. She walked into the centre and closed her eyes. In the darkness, she saw only light. Forests of green, flowers of every imaginable colour, small animals wandering about freely. She thought of the wind as it rushed through the forest, of the nymphs whose hands she would hold.

  She swayed and danced as she recalled the steps they used to take. Her hands reached out as though they were clasping those of Diana and her other friends. Her palms grew warm, as though those hands really were in hers now.

  Vera squeezed her eyes shut tighter, feeling the joy she always felt at dancing with her friends, celebrating life and love and laughter. With her last twirl, she thought of Diana and the joy she carried.

  When the playful laughter of nymphs sounded, her eyes flew open. Sure they were there, she looked in every direction, but there was no trace of her friends. Crushed with disappointment and almost ready to give up, a speck of colour caught her eye. Right there by her foot, a patch of green.

  Amazed, she dropped to her knees and reached out a trembling hand. In the midst of ashes and destruction, the tiny shoot of a plant had risen. A touch of hope in the darkness.

  ABOU
T THE AUTHOR: SHAY Laurent has loved reading and writing since her youth. She was born in Dubbo NSW and has since moved to Western Sydney. She lives with her husband and two young daughters. When she’s not with her daughters playing peekaboo or reading their favourite books, she’s dreaming up imaginary worlds and committing them to paper.

  Shay mostly writes tales of fantasy and she is publishing her debut novel, a Young Adult epic fantasy in 2020. She also loves to connect with readers and writers around the world. You will often find her on Twitter @slaurentauthor.

  To find out more about Shay, you can check out her website: www.shaylaurent.com

  Daring to Dream by Jessica Drake

  JANUARY 1 1996

  Dear Diary—am I supposed to write ‘Dear Diary’? I’m not sure, I’ve never had a diary before, but it seems like the right thing to do. I got you for Christmas so thought I should start the year right by writing things down. It’s school holidays and I’ve been reading books and watching videos. I might visit the library again tomorrow, I’m nearly finished this book and I need some new ones.

  JANUARY 4 1996

  Oops, I meant to be better at writing in you, Diary, but I forgot the past few days. Not much has happened. I went to the movies with my friends, Kate and Melissa. We ate too much popcorn and there was a boy there that Kate liked. She didn’t want to say hello to him, what a chicken.

  JANUARY 14 1996

  I think I’m going to give up trying to do a daily update and just write when I remember. That still counts right? Mum took me out shopping for back to school supplies today. I got a new backpack, and some new notebooks. I got to pick out the contact to cover them, it’s pink and purple with unicorns on it! I’m looking forward to going back to school and seeing everyone. I mean, I’ve seen Kate and Melissa a fair bit, and a few other people, but it’s different when you’re on holidays.

  FEBRUARY 2 1996

  First week back at school, Diary. I’m in Mr Spencer’s class this year and I have to sit next to Shane. Ugh, of all the people, I had to end up next to him. He’s so annoying and keeps poking me with his pencil when Mr Spencer isn’t looking. At least Kate and Melissa are in my class again this year.

  FEBRUARY 22 1996

  There was an accident. My parents.

  FEBRUARY 25 1996

  My parents are dead. I’m all alone. Our neighbour, Mrs Hobbs, has been looking after me for the past few days. She used to babysit me when I was younger. But a lady has come to talk to her. I think they’re going to send me away. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared.

  FEBRUARY 26 1996

  Mrs Hobbs says she can’t look after me anymore. I will be sent to a home for kids without families. I guess it’s like an orphanage, but who wants to adopt a grown kid? I’m sure babies are better. Am I going to be stuck in a foster home and get beaten? I don’t want that. Maybe I should run away? I’ll have to go to a new school, maybe I’ll even have to move states.

  I just want my Mum.

  MARCH 12 1996

  I’ve been taken in by the Jordan family. They have a son—Ben—who’s about my age and a daughter a few years younger. They seem nice enough, but I don’t care. I don’t want a new family, I want my Mum and Dad! Why did this have to happen? What did I do to deserve this? Why couldn’t I have died with them?

  MARCH 13 1996

  Diary, I may be going mad. I found this note in you. It’s not on any paper I recognise, it’s got this border with cartoon characters I’ve never seen before.

  Hey Sam—Chin up, mouse. This is a hard time for you right now, and you have every right to feel angry, sad and guilty. Take your time to heal. The Jordans aren’t so bad and you’ll realise that, eventually. Look after yourself and the rest will follow.

  It’s definitely got my name on it, and the name Mum and Dad used to call me. Are they trying to communicate to me? Mum, Dad, I miss you so much! Where are you? Can’t you just come back and take me home?

  Oh what’s the use? I bet Ben found you and decided to play an awful trick on me. He looks at me like I’m from another planet.

  MARCH 18 1996

  Had my first day at my new school today. My new teacher is Miss Wong and she seems nice enough. I have a seat by myself because everyone else has been paired up for the year. That suits me fine. I don’t want to have to talk to anyone. Everyone was whispering about me. The Girl with the Dead Parents, I bet they called me. Stupid people. I hate them.

  MARCH 23 1996

  Mum, Dad, Jesus, whoever you are, you’re definitely not Ben. I hid this diary where no one could find it, but today I still found a note inside you.

  Sam—Allow yourself to feel angry, but let it go. Don’t bottle it up and keep it to yourself. If you have to find an outlet for your restless energy, I hear there’s a pretty good karate school over on Sycamore St.

  I don’t think it’s Mum or Dad. They’d tell me, surely.

  This seems so weird, but even if you’re the Wizard of Oz, you at least do know about that karate place in town. I walked past it on my way home from school and there was a class about to start. I looked through the window and I suppose the punching and kicking does look like fun.

  APRIL 3 1996

  I asked Mrs Jordan if I could attend the karate school, thinking she’d say no, not wanting to spend money on a kid that wasn’t hers, but she said yes. I think maybe she’s grateful I want to do something other than stay in my room and cry. I can’t help it, though. I miss my parents, my home, my old friends, even Mrs Hobbs. Will it ever stop? I got another note too, not foreboding or creepy at all. But I know I’ll have to go check it out.

  The pain will ease slowly, it comes and goes. It’s normal, but I promise you, you’ll get through this. You’re strong. You have so much more to do in this life. Be kind to yourself. P.S. Make sure you walk past the alley behind the video store, where the dumpsters are. Go after school on Thursday 11 April. Look for a box and listen.

  APRIL 11 1996

  Okay, I’m seriously freaked out now. These notes must be from the future. How else would you have known that I’d find a poor starving kitten in that alley? I brought it home with me and the Jordans have let me keep it so long as I take care of it. I think I’m going to call it Lucky. Lucky because it has survived, Lucky because I’m lucky to now have a friend and Lucky because of these strange notes I’m getting. Who are you?

  MAY 4 1996

  Lucky has grown so much! Lucky is a girl and she’s so happy. She sleeps with me in my room, and follows me around the house. Her favourite game is to attack my karate belt when I dangle it for her to pounce on. I’m already a yellow belt! One of the girls in my karate class is at my school. She’s a year above me, but it is kind of nice to see a friendly face at school. I’m still alone there, but I don’t care, I have Lucky and that’s all that matters. I feel happier than I have been, but then I feel guilty for feeling happy. Mum and Dad are gone and I shouldn’t feel happy without them.

  MAY 5 1996

  Another note today.

  Sam—You’re allowed to feel happy. It’s what your parents would want. I’m sure they are glad to know you are doing better. They’ll always be a part of you, no matter what you do. It’s okay to think of your future and dream.

  I may be crazy and responding to someone from the future, but you’re right. Mum and Dad are gone, and I can’t honour their memory cooped up in my room with no friends. You’ve convinced me that it’s okay to be me again. So here’s what I hope for the future: that I make some friends at school, that I can be a vet when I grow up and look after animals like Lucky, and that I can get my next belt at grading in two weeks

  SAM DUG THROUGH THE cupboard, past old lab coats and karate gis, sorting things to pack and things to throw away. She found a dusty old box full of notebooks and started leafing through them. These were some of her old diaries from when she was younger.

  She sat back, gripping the very first diary she had written, thinking back to that awful year and the mysterious no
tes that had appeared when she’d needed them most. Maybe now she’d figure out who it was once and for all.

  Sam rifled through the pages, slightly amused at her attempts at diary entries, but couldn’t find a single note. Defeated, she was about to put the notebook back when a pad of notepaper caught her eye. The decorative border! She’d seen that before, long ago.

  With a wry smile, Sam picked up the pad of notepaper, hunted for a pen and started writing.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: JESS is a librarian, Slytherin and life long speculative fiction fan. You can find her reading, playing board games, or volunteering at a range of events. This is her first story.

  The Forest at the Edge of the World by Jessica A. McMinn

  SHE’D BEEN WALKING for hours. The ground was a soft, fine powder of crushed crystal. Before her rose a dark stretch of unexplored forest; behind, the high walls of the Colony shrank in the distance.

  Kassa pushed up her goggles and crouched in the sand, looking for tracks. Nothing. The sand was rippled and ridged by the wind but otherwise undisturbed. She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do and so did what she thought she should: Kassa removed one of her gloves, collected a pinch of sand between her thumb and forefinger and rubbed the grains together. Then, she stuck out her tongue.