by Apex Authors
* * *
Apex Publications, LLC
www.apexdigest.com
Copyright ©2008 by Apex Publications
First published in March 2008, 2008
* * *
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
* * *
Apex Science Fiction and Horror Digest
Issue 12
Subscription Rates: $20 for one year (four issues). Canada/Mexico—$24. International—$34.
Apex Science Fiction & Horror Digest is a publication of Apex Publications, LLC and is distributed four times a year from Lexington, Kentucky.
Copyright © 2008 all rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be reprinted in whole or in part without written permission.
ISSN: 1553-7269
Apex Science Fiction & Horror Digest PO Box 24323, Lexington, KY 40524
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.apexdigest.com
Jason Sizemore: Editor in Chief
Gill Ainsworth: Senior Editor
Deb Taber: Editor/Art Director
Jodi Lee: Copy/Submissions Editor
Alethea Kontis: Contributing Editor
Mari Adkins: Submissions Editor
Paul Jessup: Submissions Editor
Justin Stewart: Content Designer
CONTENTS
Death Comes For All
The Heavy
Hal Duncan Interviews Jeff VanderMeer
To Know How to See
I Can't Look at the City
PostFlesh
Covenant
Little Red Riding Hood—Life off the Path
Bibliography
Bio
Broken Strand
Feverish Solutions
Clementine
Solomon's Bad Luck
Cain XP11 (Part 4): The Wicked King
An Interview With Laura Anne Gilman by Jason Sizemore
Curve Balls in the Rift
Making Dynamite
Artist Bios
Subscriptions
Apex parting shot
* * * *
Death Comes For All
By Brian Keene and Steven L. Shrewsbury
* * * *
BRIAN KEENE is the best-selling author of many books, including Dark Hollow, Ghoul, Dead Sea, Terminal, The Conqueror Worms, The Rising, City of the Dead, and more. The winner of two Bram Stoker awards, Keene's work has been praised in such diverse places as the New York Times, the History Channel, CNN.com, Fangoria, and Rue Morgue. Keene lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, Cassi, and his dog, Sam. He communicates with his readers online at www.briankeene.com.
Steven L. Shrewsbury lives in rural Illinois where he dreams of brighter horizons and long ago places. Over 350 of his tales and 100 of his poems have appeared in print or online. His dark fantasy novel Thrall will be released by Elder Signs Press in 2008. While he denies he is Robert E. Howard reincarnated, his novels Godforsaken and Thoroughbred made many wonder. He writes in many genres—horror, fantasy and even westerns.
* * * *
Rogan and Javan floated on a sea of corpses. Bodies bobbed up and down in the blood-frothed waves—their crew, their slaves, the pirates who had attacked them, and the sharks and other predators. Birds blocked out the sun, hovering overhead and landing on the dead long enough to seize the choicest morsels.
Rogan kept his eyes closed, listening to the seagulls shrieking. Then he knew no more, until—
"Uncle,” Javan shouted. “We live still!"
Rogan's long body lay adhered to the hull in a dried circle of blood, seawater, and sweat. The ocean lapped against the shattered craft, and the prolonged rhythm—along with the fatigue from their battle with the pirates—had lulled him to sleep. Rubbing his eyes and scratching at his salt-hardened beard, Rogan raised his head and pulled his mane of hair away from the surface. He blinked, licked his sun-blistered lips and winced, grinning at the pain.
"You are a brilliant advisor after all, Javan. It is not a wonder I brought you along to interpret and counsel me. Of course we still live. Our crew and slaves were slain, but death has not come for us. Perhaps soon."
"I endeavor to bring satisfaction, sire, but look.” Javan pointed, then jumped into the water, his dark hair flailing as he hopped.
"Javan? What madness has seized you?"
Rogan arose to see what had inspired his young nephew's folly. Javan hopped in waist deep water, gesturing at the brown, sandy beach nearby.
"We made it, sire.” The boy laughed, splashing. “Wodan is merciful. Rhiannon is just."
Rogan chewed salt from his mustache and stared at the shore. He slid into the cool water, muscles aching, wounds burning. Though in the latter stages of his life, Rogan still felt great strength in his thews.
"Wodan is merciful? Shit fire and spare the flint stones! Wodan is a bitch's son with a bad sense of humor, boy. I may pray to your goddess, Rhiannon, before this day is out, instead."
Javan splashed again, then sank beneath the waves and emerged, spraying a mouthful of water.
"Javan, you are acting like a child. Do you still suckle at your mother's tit? Are all the young men from Albion this foolish? Back in the Caucaus Mountains, we'd have killed many and learned to be Smiths by your age."
"Death doesn't lurk around every corner in Albion, Sire."
Rogan snorted and then said, “Of course it does, you jackass. You're looking hard enough."
"Sire, I know that you have cheated death many times in your life. It is an old cloak for you to discard, slipping out of the shadows of the afterlife. But this battle with the pirates and our loss at sea was my first true test. I hope this is the only time I must dodge such a foe."
"I've never cheated death, lad. I've only escaped him for a time."
"Still, I hope to never have to do the same again.” Javan stood, looking up at Rogan.
"All men meet death sooner or later, Javan. The trick is to bend him to your will. That is what I have always done. Nothing more. But my will is strong."
They waded ashore and collapsed in the warm, sun-baked sand. It stuck to their wounds and their raw skin, scratching and scraping—but neither had ever felt anything more luxuriant. Gulls darted across the beach, their beaks snapping at small, scuttling crabs. Scrub grass swayed in the breeze, and bleached driftwood dotted the dunes. Further inland, a dense forest walled off an immense series of mist-enshrouded mountains. The blue sky brushed against the mountaintops.
Rogan gazed up at the dwarfing spectacle.
Aye, my will is strong, he thought. But death can only be bent over so many times. And as I get slower, his pace stays the same.
They sat in silence for a while, each lost in thought. The surf's lullaby washed over them.
"It is beautiful, this land,” Javan breathed, spellbound. “The greenery is like an ocean itself. Look at the shafts of light from the sky, how they crease the mists wreathing the mountaintops."
Rogan nodded. “It almost makes one believe in the gods, eh?"
"Look how far the coast goes on."
Rogan stretched, his sword dangling over his bare thigh. Javan stood up, brushed the sand from his skin, and walked farther ashore. Rogan remained on the ground, letting the tide lap at him.
"We should attempt to map this new land,” Javan called. “Should we ever return home, our learned men will be gra
teful."
Rogan clambered to his feet. “That is not our most pressing matter, Javan. We must make camp. When we do not return, our friends in Olmek-Tikal may come to our aid. At the very least, they shall send a search party to find news of their missing loved ones. Remember—our crew was full of men with wives and children. They will be sought. Let us try to flip this damaged hulk over. Perhaps we can ground her well and take shelter in her belly for the night."
This task was easier said than done. Leading the damaged vessel to shore was a great labor even in the shallow water, but flipping it over proved impossible, despite Rogan's strength. They dragged the long ship only a few feet before the mast pole and other materials underneath sank into the wet sand.
Out of breath, Rogan fell on the dry part of beach. As the breeze washed over them, he said, “The damned sea will take her back with the tides."
"Perhaps it will be shoved further in by the tides or sink in deeper, sire."
"Always looking on the dazzling side, eh, lad?” Rogan grinned.
"Well, Rhiannon is a goddess of light, Sire."
Rogan waved him off and looked to the mountains. “What manner of land is this, I wonder? Southern Olmek-Tikal was all full of swamps, marshes, and alligators when we sailed along its coast last year."
"Not an enjoyable journey, if my mind is sharp, sire.” Javan's voice dripped with sarcasm. “I've no desire to repeat it."
"Since I saved you from quicksand on two different occasions, I can see why. Scavenge what you can from the beach. It looks as though the seas do not want items that fall to the bottom. We will need all we can salvage if there is life here."
"Surely the cache of weapons in the rear chamber is intact. If I swim under the ship, perhaps I can retrieve them."
Approving this idea, Rogan waded back into the water and waited. Piece by piece, Javan retrieved armor and weapons from the rear of the boat, which was still underwater. The youth then tossed them to Rogan, who carried each item to shore. He was stunned by how many times Javan dived and returned with knives or swords.
At last, Rogan called, “Do you need to breathe, boy?"
Javan winked and dove again. This time he returned with a blade in his teeth and a round shield in his left hand. In his right hand was a bottle of wine. Rogan grabbed the bottle and his perpetual scowl gave way to a slight smile.
"You see?” Javan laughed. “Just what we needed."
Rogan unsealed the wine and said, “We? Dive again for your own."
He waited until the youth was underwater, and then mumbled, “I swear, the boy is half fish."
They carried the weapons and water flasks up the beach. Rogan drank deeply from the wine while Javan heaped the weapons in a grassy area out of the reach of the surf.
Rogan sat down and looked back at the water. The alcohol coursed through his veins, easing his pain.
Javan pointed at the sea birds and crabs. “At least there is wildlife in abundance. And I found a fishing rod amidst the weapons."
"Wonderful. So we will not starve right away."
"We will only have to survive a brief time, sire. Surely you are correct and others from the southern part of Olmek-Tikal will search for us when we do not return."
Rogan shrugged, his nostrils testing the sea air. “Probably. If they find us it will be a miracle all in itself. We traveled a long way. They may give up in despair before ever reaching this point."
"The natives in Olmek-Tikal practically worship you,” Javan reminded him. “They would not desert you any more than I would."
Brooding, Rogan drank more wine. “Perhaps. We will just have to wait and see. They may be happy to be rid of their white king. Bah—I've grown tired of such primitive ignorance, anyway. I came here for adventure, not to be a god to a pack of red-skinned farmers and fishermen."
Javan took up a bow and a single arrow. He cleared his throat, inspecting the leaves of a squat bush. A swarm of angry gnats arose from the branches and pestered him.
"Welcome home, Javan.” Rogan swept his hand toward the forest. “I bet that when General Thyssen sent you along for maturing, he never dreamed that you'd be shipwrecked with his old king, eh?"
Javan shrugged and drew the string of his bow back. With one shot, he struck a swooping seagull. Squawking, it flopped in the water, and the young man ran into the surf to retrieve his prize, carefully avoiding the body parts of their fellow sailors that were beginning to wash ashore. The sand was stained red.
"At least you are not skittish,” Rogan hollered. “That surf is thick with pieces of our foes. Look how the beach is littered with their limbs."
Emerging from the water, Javan said, “Sire, I think you complimented me."
Rogan smiled. “Engrave it in stone, boy. It may be my only testament in such a manner to you."
A sudden gust of wind blasted off the ocean. Beyond the trees, they heard a deep growl. It did not sound human. It did sound hungry. Exchanging glances, both men took to the bushes.
Out of the trees lumbered a gigantic black bear. As the sea gave up the fruits of their awful triumph over the corsairs, the grisly bits of humanity along the shoreline tempted the animal. It sniffed the air and slowly padded onto the beach, devouring morsels here and there.
"What a beast,” Rogan whispered as Javan leaned close to hear him. “This animal may be just what we need."
"What say you, sire?"
"Look to that mountain range. Such conditions remind me of the peaks south of Turana. I would guess the temperature drops here at night and in the higher elevations."
"That is logical."
"Of course it's logical. That bear's coat is thicker than it should be for the late summer season. Perhaps we are farther north than we thought. He grows it not for a coming winter, but for everyday warmth. Since the sea has stripped us down to our loins, the choice is obvious. We must take him for his hide. It will keep us warm."
The bear raised its head and looked around. Then it continued rooting. Its snout was crimson, and its long, pink tongue licked at the droplets of blood.
"How long since you have last slain a bear single-handed, sire?"
Rogan shrugged. “I cannot recall. But I am not hollowed out just yet. Besides, I have you along. Why should I fear him with your bow at my side?"
Javan breathed a heavy sigh and prepared. “I appreciate your faith, sire."
"Use the heavy arrows the pirates had. The forked heads are a work of savage art."
"As you command."
"We have collected enough of those from the stray quivers on the beach. Wodan knows what else will vomit onto the shore over time. With a good chance we can pierce a lung in that hulk."
"I will do my best, lord."
"Keep striking if he doesn't go down.” Rogan squeezed the handle of a double-headed battle-axe they'd retrieved from the bireme's mooring links. “I shall do the rest."
Javan mumbled a prayer to Rhiannon and stealthily positioned himself farther down the line of bushes. Rogan ran down the beach in the open for a few yards. The bear looked up from the rib cage that had washed ashore. The beast spied the older man, but made no effort to follow him. It showed no fear or a desire to hunt a foolish human as easier pickings lay at its feet. Instead, the beast lowered its snout and continued licking the scraps of organs and tissue still clinging to the bones.
Javan fired the first of his arrows into the bear's side. The beast grunted, and roared. Quickly, Javan drew from the quiver on his back and fired three more times, striking the creature in the side, close to the front quarters, and then the low-hanging belly. He expected the bear to drop, but instead it stood firm.
Rogan loped further out onto the sand with the smooth ease of a tiger and fired his own long bow twice. The first shot missed, but the second arrow struck the bear deep in the other flank. The beast rose up, teeth bared as it howled. Thick flecks of foamy saliva dropped from its jowls.
Rogan let the bow slide from his fingers and drew back, hefting the double-edg
ed battle-axe. He roared in answer to the bear's challenge. The animal paused. Grunting hard, Rogan flung the heavy axe with all of his might. The weapon tumbled end over end and buried itself under the beast's open maw, cleaving its jaws.
Staggering, the bear rocked back and forth on unsteady paws, but still refused to fall. Rogan drew his broadsword and charged low, like a bull. The mortally wounded animal tried to roar, but only a weak gurgle issued from its throat. Rogan avoided the desperate claws and stabbed his blade into the bear's abdomen. Going to all fours, the beast lurched a few steps before collapsing. Rogan danced away again, inadvertently stomping on the leg of some partially eaten shark victim.
The bear shuddered, and then moved no more.
Rogan dropped to his knees and rolled onto his buttocks beside it. He greedily sucked the salty air into his burning lungs.
Javan ran up, whooping in joy.
Rogan eyed the boy and said, “I suppose you expect me to gut and clean him as well?"
Javan smiled. “It is your kill, Uncle."
"I'll clout you for that,” Rogan grunted. “But first I must rest."
* * * *
It took them the rest of the day to skin and clean the bear, and it was dusk by the time they were finished. They washed their hands in the ocean, cleaning them of the sticky blood, and then Javan started a fire behind a dune and prepared dinner. The meat gleaned from the kill was tough and gamy. Gulls darted over their heads, begging for scraps. Rogan growled at them, and the shrieking scavengers fled into the night.
As they ate, Javan eyed the skeleton of the bireme.
"I was correct, sire. The ship is deeper in the sand now and will not be sucked out to sea."
"If we ever see Albion again,” Rogan said around a mouthful of half-cooked bear flesh, “I shall give you a medal."
"We will get back, sire. Some way, some how, we will."
Rogan shrugged, sucking the marrow from a bone. “Perhaps my destiny is to die here."
"Banish such thoughts, sire!"
The fire popped, sending a brief shower of burning embers into the night sky.
