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by Annelie Wendeberg

  My butt slides off the chair. My legs react quickly and counteract the fall.

  Yi-Ting’s slender fingers pinch my nose. I have yet to find a fruit or flower that does full justice to the flavours of her name. Yi tastes a bit like the little green plums that grow here. Ting is close enough to one of those impossibly quick fish from the ocean nearby. But not quite. I think they are called “tuna.” I’ll ask her next time she cuts one up and serves it raw with this salty brown sauce and that hot green paste she grates fresh off a rhizome. There are so many new words to learn and so many new flavours attached to them and to the food they describe. Sometimes, the word-flavour and the food-flavour collide so strongly I cannot remember which is which.

  My mouth tugs itself to a silly smile when I push my emptied bowl towards her. ‘Thank you. You can revive the dead with your soups.’

  She snatches the dish gracefully and plops it into a bucket with soap water. Everything about this girl is delicate: her neck, her hands, her feet. My gaze drops down to where her shirt touches her waistband. I can’t help it. I love it when her pants slide down a bit. They don’t do me the favour today, but once in a while they do and when she re-ties the strings holding her pants up on her hips, they sag another tiny fraction just before she hikes them back up. And there, right above the wing of her hipbone is this shadow of a ledge, or groove, or gentle valley that would divert the warm rain, maybe, if it doesn’t fall too hard, and lead it a little sideways to where her thighs meet.

  Whenever I think of the smooth skin above her hips, my lips want to rest there. Exhaling a sigh, I lower my chin into my palm. Yi-Ting turns and catches my eyes (I’m probably at the idiotic end of the sheepishness spectrum now), then her gaze strays away and over my right shoulder. She smiles a lovely, heart-warming smile. I can’t keep my head from turning. Behind me, I spot Runner; hands in pockets, head lowered. He turns away and I can see the heat in his cheeks and the smile that only reluctantly dares to show.

  My first thought is to snatch Yi-Ting’s hand and run far away with her. On the way past Runner, I’ll kick his balls. At least I know now, why he’s shaving the scruff off his cheeks every morning for the past weeks.

  My second thought is to collapse on my bunk and punch my pillow.

  But all I do is stretch my aching limbs and make my way to debriefing. I know I fucked up the heat signature cloaking. He’s shown me how to do it, but I thought I knew better.

  Get your free copy of FOG here

  Q & A with the Author

  Q: You’ve written a Victorian thriller series that took off quite well. Why a SciFi now?

  A: The idea came to me in early summer 2014. I was in a meeting with twenty environmental scientists. We discussed our visions (nope, we didn’t smoke stuff) and future projects. I wanted to know how to lower a person’s CO2 footprint to the recommended level. To my surprise, none of the people in the room (all senior scientists, all in the environmental and biotech field) knew what the average German CO2 footprint is (11 tonnes of CO2 per person per year), or the recommended level (2.5 tonnes). What surprised me even more was that none of them thought it had anything to do with science to find out how one can lower one’s footprint, none of them believed it could be done on a per-individual basis, and some thought new technologies could help us reach the 2.5 tonnes goal. I then asked which technologies could help us reach this goal in the next ten years. The answers were…sobering, to put it mildly. So a bunch of experienced environmental scientists, who have known about climate change for roughly twenty years, had no idea how to fix it and certainly didn’t think it necessary to change their own habits significantly. This pissed me off so much that I killed ten billion people in my SciFi. Talk about anger management…

  Q: So we are all going to die?

  A: Yep. The average life expectancy of a human in a first world country is 80 years.

  Q: What I meant was — is the science in your SciFi sound?

  A: A simple “yes” doesn’t nail it, so let me put it like this: It is abundantly clear that our planet is warming. But not only the warming itself will change our world as we know it. We are already seeing changing weather patterns with extreme weather and droughts. We are already in the middle of three pandemics: The HIV/Aids pandemic is slowly retreating, the seventh cholera pandemic that started in the 1960s is still not under control, and the tuberculosis pandemic infects roughly one third of the human population. The World Health Organization warns about the spreading of multidrug-resistant tuberculosis bacteria with 900,000 cases each year. Microbiologists warn about the spreading of antibiotics-resistance genes in a great number of pathogenic bacteria, and they expect us to reach a point when antibiotics are no longer effective. Think of Victorian London with diseases like syphilis, cholera, typhus — there were no antibiotics available back then and a lot of people died a gruesome death.

  What has disease to do with climate change you might ask — a lot! The warming of the oceans will not only cause sea levels to rise, but will also raise groundwater tables. Imagine the dramatic input of faeces from flooded sewer systems into groundwater — our most important drinking water resource. In combination with elevated atmospheric and sea surface water temperatures, the spreading of disease will speed up. Add this to the warning of hydrologists: clean drinking water will soon be a very limited commodity.

  Q: So you do believe in climate change and global change and other weird stuff?

  A: Duh?

  Q: Anyway. Where is the proof?

  A: Umm. You could, for example, check the “extras” in the next section that gives you a few examples of the things that are already happening and a few data from predictive models. Or you can ask a scientist. They have blogs and stuff.

  Q: Ooookay. Back to the interesting things. Will we hear more about Micka and Runner?

  A: Yep.

  Q: Cool! When?

  A: Should I ask my predictive models? Just kidding. There’s the sequel “fog” and I’m writing on the third book now.

  EXTRAS

  (Click on the links to learn more)

  For the first time in evolution, a species evolved that was able to teach its young about objects and events not present, to pass on wisdom gleaned from the successes — and the mistakes — of the past, to make plans for the distant future, to discuss ideas so that they could grow, sometimes out of all recognition, through the combined wisdom of the group.

  Jane Goodall

  The seventh cholera pandemic started in the 1960s. It occurs in more than sixty countries, affecting more than 7 million people. From: “Oceans, Climate and Health: Cholera as a Model of Infectious Diseases in a Changing Environment,” lecture by Prof. Rita Colwell, former director of the United States National Science Foundation

  Recent studies have associated temperatures and rainfall anomalies with diarrhea and cholera, and stress the role of climate variability in cholera transmission… Trærup et al., 2011. Int. J. Environmental Research & Public Health

  Tuberculosis (TB) is a global health emergency that demands concerted management efforts. Recent World Health Organization reports reveal that multidrug-resistant TB is a substantial problem in every region evaluated. Cohen & Murray, 2014. Nature.

  World-map showing the spreading of multidrug-resistant tuberculosis (World Health Organisation)

  “…understanding global disease dynamics has become a major 21st century challenge.” Brockman & Helbing, 2013. Science.

  Sustainability: A development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.

  World Commission on Environment and Development, 1987.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Magnus, my husband, because you are the most loving and patient person I know. You are the father to our children I wished I’d had, the love I wished would have been my first, and the best friend I missed for thirty-five years. Thank you, my love.

  My beta readers, who had to endure the crappy first version
of this story: Peter Cavanagh, Bryan Kroeger, Jennifer Nissley, and Rita Singer (who even dared to test-read twice).

  My editors Sabrina Flynn, Nancy DeMarco, and Susan Uttendorfsky for their praise and their honest critique. Without your help, this thing would be a crappy draft.

  My friends on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest, for helping me improve the book’s cover and synopsis. Oh! And for reading my stories and encouraging me to write even more :)

  The people at Sniper Central for feedback on Runner’s rifle. Be warned! I’m coming back and bugging you guys some more.

  2nd edition: Many thanks to Janis MacDermott and Tom Welch for proof reading this edition. If there are any mistakes - it’s all my fault because I was either to hasty or I thought I knew better.

  King’s Folly

  by Sabrina Flynn

  CHAPTER ONE

  KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. The hoarding of rumor was an addicting sort of habit that made Isek Beirnuckle hum with ecstasy. Tiny morsels of information kept him alive, barely surviving, until the blissful moment when all the pieces fell into place, clicking together with a rush of glorious revelation.

  Occasionally, he happened upon a rarity of illumination that was simply too tempting to resist, one where a more active role was required.

  Isek had acquired precisely such a treasure, when earlier this morning, he had pressed his ear to a door and listened to two ancients speaking of matters never before spoken. The reward was limitless; the risk disastrous. But life had always been a game to one such as Isek, and he played it with a ruthless flourish.

  In one indistinguishable corridor from the next, Isek led his four fellow Wise Ones behind a dusty tapestry that mirrored a thousand others.

  A dark-skinned Kilnish Lord, a slant-eyed Rahuatl, a leather-garbed gnome, and a young power hungry Xaionian crowded behind the tattered tapestry with Isek.

  Eiji growled, jostling for a better position as the four men threatened to squeeze the gnome from the cramped alcove. Isek suppressed a chuckle, imagining the tapestry from without, bulging and moving as five Wise Ones stuffed themselves into the space.

  “Grant me access to the Archlord’s Runic Eye,” Tharios ordered, and although he wore a smooth, imperious mask of control, his eyes shone with hunger.

  “I can’t—” Isek stammered. “Not until the Circle of Nine names you as Archlord. Until that’s done, Marsais is the only one who can grant you access to the rune.” Isek shuffled from foot to foot. But his uneasiness was insincere.

  The Spine defied logic, it resisted reason, and anyone daring to ponder its design would be left with a truly puzzling conclusion. However, Isek knew the tower like the back of his teeth, and he recognized that he had the advantage over the power hungry fool. He intended to keep it that way.

  Tharios’ cool eyes pierced Isek. For a moment Tharios’ mask slipped, revealing the depth of lunacy beneath, but before Isek could take a step back, the mask returned, leaving him good and truly unsettled. He ran a nervous hand over his smooth head.

  “You’re right of course.” Tharios dipped his chin. “Uphold your end of our bargain, and I’ll uphold mine.”

  “As agreed.” Isek pressed his palm over a bare spot of stone. The invisible rune activated with a faint tremor. He motioned the four into the teleportation weave. When they had all disappeared, he stepped through, feeling the familiar tug of stone. He emerged in an alcove that was perpetually plagued by cobwebs. The four Wise Ones stood staring at the long corridor that was void of decoration save a row of doors on either side.

  Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness.

  “What’s behind these doors?” The gnome peered curiously at each in turn.

  “Libraries, storage rooms, and the vault,” explained Isek, pointing to one of the rune-etched doors that looked no different from the rest.

  “Would you look at that Ward.” Eiji gave a low whistle, but he strode past without pause, leading them into the Archlord’s circular study. The room was exactly how Marsais had left it this morning before the duel—utterly chaotic.

  “The bed and bathing chambers are through there.” Isek pointed down the short hallway to the connecting doors.

  “Impressive,” Shimei said, admiring the massive crystal window. “Although as disorderly as it is, I feel as if I’ve walked into the lunatic’s mind.”

  The only uncluttered surface in the study was a table top covered with a swirling cycle of rune stones. Isek eyed the abandoned game of King’s Folly. Marsais and his nymph were fond of the lord’s game, and so was Isek; only he liked to play with lives.

  While Shimei and Eiji poked curiously around the study, N’Jalss searched for the purported flask that Marsais had reluctantly told them about in the dungeon. Isek followed Tharios and the Rahuatl into the bedchambers. When the two spotted the charred bedclothes, they drew up short.

  “Marsais has odd tastes,” Isek explained, vaguely.

  “Have you ever seen the flask Marsais claimed was here?” Tharios folded his hands behind his back, scanning the room while N’Jalss began a systematic search of the area, flicking things aside with his clawed finger caps.

  “Not in his bedchamber, aside from the Primrose wine I gave him. However, there were two flagons in his vault,” Isek said. “Isiilde opened one of them, and accidentally released the Imp that has been plaguing the castle. The second flagon is still in his vault.”

  “Keep searching his bedchamber, N’Jalss,” Tharios ordered, before sweeping out of the room with a rustle of fabric. He gestured to the gnome and Kiln. “Eiji, Shimei, with me.”

  Isek followed, threading a gold crown over his knuckles; back and forth, up and over, in a steady, uninterrupted motion. The coin was his only bad habit—his only physical tell to an otherwise flawless act.

  Three of the most talented Wise Ones in the Order stood in front of the vault. Each wore an identical frown. Marsais’ wards were as legendary as his madness.

  “Open it, Isek.” Shimei gestured at the vault.

  “I think not,” Isek smiled blandly. “I’d sooner ride an Auroch than touch one of Marsais’ wards. The man may be mad, but he has a cruel sense of humor when it comes to runes. In the past, when he’s needed something from his vault, he always opens the door himself.”

  “You’re not in a place to negotiate,” Shimei sneered.

  “Actually, he is,” Tharios interjected with the smoothness of a diplomat. “Isek, as I’m sure he knows, is the only one who can safely transport us out of the Archlord’s inner sanctum. In short, Shimei, if something were to happen to our guide, we would be trapped here.” The Kiln bristled and, raising his chin, turned his back on Isek to study the warded vault.

  “How did the nymph unravel this ward?”

  “Isiilde has a talent for them. She thinks it’s a game. After she unraveled this one, she rifled through his vault.”

  Tharios pursed his lips in thought. And Isek kept his breath even. It was apparent, even then, that there was more to the nymph than met the eye—talent was an understatement.

  Eiji gave a dispassionate shrug. “We can use Marsais as leverage and have the nymph open it.”

  “And risk her dying in the process?” Isek snapped. It wouldn’t do for Tharios to take an interest in the nymph. If the man Stievin, who had raped the nymph, had had any sense beyond his cock, he would have realized just what he possessed. The power hungry Xaionian would not be nearly so foolish.

  Tharios held up a hand. “I honor my arrangements. I swore to Isek that he would have her. Besides, I wouldn’t trust the nymph to open this any further than I’d trust Marsais—who knows what those two might purposefully unleash.” Tharios turned to Shimei and smiled. “It’s time our Kilnish friend proved his dedication.”

  Shimei spat. “What do you call my participation in this usurpation thus far?”

  “You were the one who approached me. After all, if a nymph can unravel this ward, then surely it’s not too difficult for a Kiln.”

  Tharios h
ad pricked Shimei’s pride. The lord could hardly back down now; however, he was rescued by a soft murmuring breeze. An urgent chorus of whispers settled on Tharios’ ears—all vying for attention. The messages were the same: The prisoners have escaped.

  “Curse Zander’s incompetence!” Tharios hissed, twisting his features into a mask of rage. For the first time since Isek undertook this dangerous game of betrayal, he felt a knot form in his stomach—the game had just taken an unexpected turn.

  Tharios turned to Isek. “Get us down there, now!”

  As the five Wise Ones sped back down the hallway whence they came, each of them asked the same silent question: How did the bound prisoners manage to escape their guards?

  Round two to you, Marsais. Isek slapped his palm on the teleportation rune with more force than necessary, and as Tharios disappeared into the stone, Isek knew he was going to have to find some new leverage for himself, and fast.

  The seer had had a trick up his sleeve after all. This left Isek in a very precarious position, but more importantly, the most powerful being to walk Fyrsta in over two thousand years—a sixteen year-old nymph—had slipped through his fingers.