“I suppose so.”
First published in WTF?! by Pink Narcissus Press in 2011.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: NIKKY grew up as a barefoot 90s child in Perth, Western Australia, before moving to New Zealand in 2016. By day she works as a professional content writer and by night authors speculative fiction, often burning the candle at both ends to explore fantastic worlds, mine asteroids and meet wizards. Her creative work has appeared in magazines, on radio and in anthologies around the world. She is currently writing a dark fantasy trilogy, routinely sacrificing literary darlings to the editing gods in the hopes of seeing it published.
You can find her online at W: nikkythewriter.com | T: @NikkyMLee | F: nikkythewriter
The Wishbone by Sylvia Petter
AT THE SUPERMARKET today, I found a phoenix. It lay there plucked like any other bird. Larger than a chicken, more slender than a goose, it was on sale. I don’t usually buy what I don’t know, but I was curious.
I removed a small bag tucked deep inside it containing its head, claws, heart, liver and kidneys, which I placed in a pot to boil into stock. I added a bay leaf, salt, pepper.
The bird’s body I carefully clipped into four. The breast meat was lean, the thighs plump, the wings slender. I added the stock and some sweet paprika, and let the bird simmer for almost two hours. It was, after all, a fairly old bird.
Some say that the phoenix lives for 1,400 years before it can be reborn. They don’t always have to be ashes. It can just decompose. There’d been no age on the label and no use-by date, which probably accounted for the sale. I wondered how it would taste. Whether I should invite others to share my meal. What if I imploded? Or simply soared? Would there be an outbreak of salmonella? Salmonella in Phoenix? I giggled. The bird was getting to me.
I laid the drumsticks and wings out on a platter surrounding the tender pieces of breast. Did I dare taste? Would it not kill me? Or would it allow me to rise above my anxiety, and let me soar with a paprika kick? I pushed at the breast meat and uncovered a wishbone; it glowed with a come-hither look. Come ride me, it said.
I brought the white bone to my lips and scraped off clinging slivers of flesh with my teeth. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply. Then I took off.
First published at Reflex Fiction.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: SYLVIA Petter, an Australian based in Austria currently back visiting family, writes short, long, serious, sexy and fun. Find out more at www.sylviapetter.com
Raven’s Sacrifice by Heather Ewings
ONCE RAVEN WAS WHITE, from the tip of her beak to the tip of her tail and the points of her claws. Though she was a bird of the earth, her pale colouring meant she could mingle with the spirits of the heavens; the angels and daemons of the bright, bright skies; those from whose lips poetry sprang, and whose songs carried a beauty so exquisite all who heard them wept. Raven spent many a day and night with these beings, watching as they drank the sparkling waters from the Well of Inspiration, listening as they gave voice to their creations. Sometimes she joined with them, for hers was a sweet song, and many stopped to hear her music.
At that time, the men and women of the earth went about their task of surviving: hunting, gathering, reproducing. Raven was fond of these creatures and often hunted with them, alerting them to prey and sharing in their spoils. She saw how similar they were in appearance to the angels of the sky, and yet how dull their lives were without dance or song or poetry.
She wondered how this could be. How could two creatures look so much alike, and yet have lives that were so vastly different? She wondered; if the humans had access to the Well of Inspiration, would they write poetry and compose music as fine as their kin in the clouds? Would their lives be richer for it?
The next time Raven visited the spirits in the sky, she watched their well. There did not seem to be anyone guarding it, as many came to and fro, helping themselves to its contents.
Raven hopped closer, coming to rest on a stone at the edge of the well. An angel came by and Raven watched as he scooped up a handful of the water and brought it to his lips.
“Excuse me,” said Raven. “May anyone drink from the well?”
The angel looked down at her. “Only the spirits of this realm may drink from the well, pale bird.”
“But what is to stop others from doing so?”
He smiled. “The drink in this well is the Fire of Inspiration. It burns with a fierceness only those of this realm can withstand.”
Raven watched the angel walk away. She looked at the water. It did not look hot. She dipped a claw, breaking the smooth, shiny surface. It did not feel hot.
It seemed the angel was misinformed. Raven dipped her beak into the water, and scooped up a large amount of the liquid. It was thick, and lukewarm. Raven spread her wings and took to the air. She circled the sky realm, peering at those around her to see if anyone had noticed, waiting for someone to call out, to stop her. When no one did she tilted to one side and dropped out of the clouds, diving towards the humans of the earth.
The first sign of change was a warmth on the tip of her tongue. It was pleasant, not painful, and Raven ignored it, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the humans so far below. Soon the warmth spread along her tongue and across the top of her beak. Her tongue tingled as the temperature rose and before long her beak seemed to sizzle. Raven’s heart rate jumped. Perhaps the angel was right. In desperation she opened her mouth, hoping the air would cool the ever-heating water, but instead the rush of oxygen ignited the liquid in a flash of blistering light.
Raven squeezed her eyes shut as flames scorched the feathers of her face. The fire boiled her flesh, and through the heat searing her nostrils Raven could smell the sulphurous scent of singed feathers. She refused to give up. Not far now! She flew faster still. But the faster she flew the more the flame blazed, until her wings and body and tail were engulfed in the fire spilling from her mouth.
At the first murmuring of a human, Raven opened her mouth to release the liquid. Squinting through stinging, tear-blurred eyes, she saw the liquid fall to the ground, setting alight the dry tinder on the floor of the clearing and splashing on nearby humans who began to scream in pain.
Raven hit the ground hard. She rolled and bounced and bumped her way along the cold hard ground, coming to a stop at the edge of a creek. Her beak burned still, and she pulled herself to the water’s edge, desperate for a drink to cool her tongue.
But when she looked into the water Raven stopped. The reflection showed a bird that was black, from the tip of her beak, to the tip of her tail and the points of her claws. She opened her mouth, but instead of her pleasant singing voice, the sound that rasped its way out of her damaged throat was a loud and noisy, ‘cawww’.
She turned, fear rising for the humans on whom she had inflicted this curse. They would need to get to the water, quickly. They would have burns that needed tending, they would—
But as Raven’s eyes focused on those who walked the earth, she saw no destruction. There was fire, but it was contained, and the people stood all around, feeding it branches and holding their hands out to its warmth. The screaming had stopped, and instead only the crack and pop of burning sticks filled the air. The fire grew; its heat and light providing solace against the growing dark.
As the first star twinkled in the sky a voice sounded out above the others.
“Gather round, and let me tell you a story . . .”
Raven’s heart soared.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: HEATHER Ewings is a Tasmanian author of speculative fiction. With a Masters in History and a fascination with myth and folklore, Heather’s stories explore the past and the present (and occasionally the future) through the lens of the magical. Her publication credits include Asymmetry Fiction and Lite Lit One, and in 2018 her novella ‘What the Tide Brings’ was selected to be part of The People’s Library project in Hobart, Tasmania. More information about Heather’s writing can be found at www.heatherewings.com.
Last Man Standing by Amanda McLeod
&n
bsp; IT’S THE WATER GUARD again. I hear the rhythmic clatter of their boots on the concrete as they pass the building. I know they’re looking for me, for us; at least in a way. We’ve been on the run long enough, trapped in this neighbourhood, that we’ve surely all succumbed. The urgency of their patrols is subsiding. They’re not hunting fugitives anymore. This has become a recovery mission. They’re looking for our corpses.
I’m hidden in this skeletal building, snatching sleep tucked into a corner under a pile of rubble, a spot the others thought might hide me long enough to have a sporting chance. My world has taken on a nightmarish quality, worse now than it was before. I didn’t believe that was possible. Jace, Jessie, Ella and Luke are all down on the lower levels. Jace thought it’d be best for them to be lower, so that as it happened I wouldn’t be haunted by things above me. I’ll be up there soon enough, he said. It doesn’t matter if I’m right down here in the end. They’ll think we’ve split up anyway, once they find the first one. Nobody would be crazy enough to stay in a place riddled with ghosts, right? Only Jace would think things through that way. The rest of us were drowning in the rush of what happened to us, what we’d discovered.
Drowning. Huh. There hasn’t been a drowning in years. It’s impossible to drown when there’s no water. Especially here in California. It’s miles from the coast, although there are whispers that once California was right by the seaside. It doesn’t matter now. You can’t swim in the ocean anymore anyway. After the First Water Crisis, the Water Guard was created to administer and enforce water rations. You get your tickets, you scan through at a water point, and the Water Guard fills your container with your allocation. Spill it? Drop it? Too bad. You die.
In the first years, there were a lot of casualties. People weren’t used to being so careful. Elderly people, the very young—anyone who dehydrated easily—they were the first wave of deaths. Then the careless and clumsy, anyone who wasted their water, or spilled it. Once you start coming up a little short, it’s easy to find yourself in serious difficulty. The Water Guard are merciless.
The black tendrils of corruption creep in wherever there is humanity, so naturally rumours began to spread about the Water Guard. They had places to exercise. Taps with running water. Underground speakeasies where they did nothing but drink. Ice. Swimming pools. All top secret, concealed, exposed on pain of death. As time passed, the whispers became echoes in time; legends.
The rumours are all true.
That’s why Jace, Jessie, Ella, Luke and I are on the run. We know. They know we know. We know they know we know. We’ve been playing hide and seek with the Water Guard for weeks. We’ve got pictures, maps, everything. We can expose them. They made one fatal mistake. They let everything get so big, they can’t hide it anymore if anyone comes looking.
They have so much water they can barely keep it hidden, while the rest of us die of thirst.
That’s what happened to the others.
The Water Guard is very, very powerful. After all, they have complete control over the one thing we all need to stay alive. The only way to overthrow them is to expose them. Then everyone will know they’ve been using huge volumes of water, more than most of us will ever see in a lifetime, to play with. While the rest of us die of dehydration. The Government will remove them because its hands are tied; either the Water Guard goes or there will be a mass uprising. And there are plenty of people left out here who’ll happily take down a government, with the right incentive. Like not dying. But we have to get this information out there for that to happen, and right now we’re prey for the hunters. At least, I am.
It was Jace, our unofficial leader of sorts, who came up with the idea. We’d realised what we had could take down the Water Guard and so had they. We’d been smart enough to fill our water rations as soon as we got the tickets; before the word got out and we were exposed. What we had would keep us all alive for a week. Jace knew a week wasn’t long enough, but what he proposed—it was horrifying, but necessary. A sacrifice of the few to save the many. Five straws, clutched in his huge, dirty fist. By agreement, whoever drew the short straw was to deliver the evidence to everyone on the list we had. And to give them the best chance of doing that, the rest of us would give them our water. Choosing our own deaths to save so many lives. Jessie went first, then Ella, then Luke. My hand trembled as I drew my straw and saw immediately it was short. Jessie let out a sob. Ella and Luke sat frozen in shocked silence. Jace just nodded.
“It’s up to you, Stevie.”
They installed me in the chosen hiding spot, Jace leaving strict instructions about how long I was to wait there before I continued the mission. At first I thought he was being a bit extreme, but then I realised: he wants to be sure everyone else is dead before I try and move, so they don’t try and convince me to save them. Or try and take my place. The thought made my blood run cold. Sitting there knowing your friends are slowly dying below you eats away at your insides; your gut, your heart, your mind. Jace tried to make sure I wouldn’t see any of them dying. He was a medic before, so he knew what they were all in for. And I didn’t see them. Even if I had the guts to defy Jace’s last orders, the sounds that echoed up from the depths below ensured I would never have moved.
Jace and Jessie were the first to go. I heard them growing weaker, hallucinating, the agony subsiding to almost soundless moans before the sound extinguished completely. Luke went next; before Ella, which drove her into madness. I knew she’d be last, because Luke was secretly giving her extra water from his rations. Luke had been an athlete, which helped him survive as long as he did with less water. That strong, efficient body could only delay the inevitable. I thought Ella’s screams would be the end of it all; but she was already so far gone herself, they faded out in less than a day. They weren’t even loud enough for the Water Guard to hear. I was just hypersensitive, and paranoid.
I still am. I sit here trapped in this building, with ghosts for company. The desiccated corpses of my friends act as silent guardians below. I’ve been here now for almost three weeks. Jace figured the Water Guard would think we had a week’s worth of water, so they’d give us two weeks before they wrote us off for dead. He was right. That’s why the patrols are less urgent, the Water Guard slightly less edgy. They think we all died of thirst. It would never occur to them that we’d do what we have, because nobody in their ranks would consider doing it themselves. The Water Guard is a concentration of everything selfish, self-preservationist, id-driven about humankind. I wish I could hate them. But I’ve used up all my strong emotions simply surviving.
Crash!
Oh god they’ve found us.
The boots crunch through the doorway and stop suddenly. Shouting. They’ve found Jace. More shouting, more boots. Jessie. As I listen, I realise Jace was right. Now they’ve seen two bodies, they think we’re all dead. They’ll relax and I’ll have my chance. I hear the boots retreating, the shouts fading as the patrol takes the evidence with them. The breath I was holding slides out through my nose and suddenly the weight of exhaustion is unbearable. I decide to try and get some sleep before I set out, as Jace instructed, to finish what has begun.
Ping!
The room is bathed in darkness. How long have I slept?
Ping! Ping-ping!
They’ve found me. They’re back to take me in. I can hear the bullets hitting the steel sheets.
Ping-ping! Ping! Ping! Ping-ping!
The shots are getting more frequent but I can’t hear the guns firing. How many of them are there? I take a huge risk, peering out through the window frame. Outside is just as dark as within. Where could they be?
Ping-ping-ping! Ping! Ping-ping!
No tell-tale red flashes light the night. There are no silenced guns firing. No guns firing at all.
Ping-ping-ping! Ping-ping-ping-ping!
It’s getting heavier. A gust of hot wind hits me, right in the face.
And something else. I pull back, hand pressed hard against my cheek. A bullet fragment? I hold my h
and down, under my knees, and risk a quick flash of torchlight.
There’s nothing there. No blood.
But my hand is wet.
I drop the torch, almost catatonic with shock.
Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping-ping-ping.
I can’t quite believe it as the sound settles into a steady pattern. It’s not bullets hitting the steel cladding on my refuge. It’s welcome relief, the gentle caress of a mother’s hand on newborn skin, a cooling balm on sunburn. It’s something I’ve never seen or heard before, but instantly recognise, through thousands of years of evolutionary programming and through the descriptions I’ve read in books.
It’s rain.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: AMANDA McLeod is an Australian author and artist based in the ACT. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in many places both in print and online, and she is the Managing Editor of Animal Heart Press. She loves coffee, her dogs, quiet places and water. Follow her on Twitter @AmandaMWrites or connect via her website www.amandamcleodwrites.com
From the Ashes by Natasja Rose
MELLIE WINCED AS SHE took off her shoes and let her feet settle in the ashes that blanketed the ground, still hot even though the fires that tore through the region had been extinguished for over a week.
She spared a brief moment of envy for those whose magic allowed them to keep their footwear, then pushed it away. She had one of the strongest Earth-Senses in the Enclave, and that required contact with the element. Especially when so much of it felt like nerve-ends burnt beyond sensation.
But there was still life, buried deep enough to remain unaffected, and it was there that Mellie reached. Carefully, she offered her power to the beginnings of new life below her, and felt it put down roots and sprout upward, reaching for the sun. She couldn’t push too hard, or she risked weakening the very plants she was trying to help, but a little from many was enough.
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