She looked from the ship to the strange glow and then back.
The humans’ magic is causing this somehow. They are harming the ocean! They must stop!
Umira swam toward the surface, her sleek body cutting through the water with sinuous powerful strokes. As she drew near the ship, something splashed into the water to her left: a glowing, greenish orb that sent tingling electricity across her skin. The light sank quickly, leaving a trail of hissing bubbles in its wake.
It dropped into the blue and then exploded.
A senses-numbing shockwave buffeted Umira, thrusting her toward the surface. The bottom of the boat’s hull loomed above, unyielding, covered with sharp barnacles.
Read more in “Monster Shark” at better e-book sellers everywhere!
CRIMSON & DRAGONS
~ A Blue Kingdoms Story ~
Stephen D. Sullivan
Is there anything in the multiverse worse than waking up naked and chained to a dungeon wall? I say, Yes: dying before you get to pay back the son-of-a-bitch who put you there.
I intended to make sure that the bastard priest who put me in this position got what he deserved, and in this lifetime, not some future one. Of course, being naked and chained to a dungeon wall, I wasn’t currently in a position to do much about it.
Acting as pin-up girl in some sadist’s twisted fantasy isn’t something I’ve experienced a lot in my many lifetimes, mostly because “death before dishonor” has always been my mantra. Of course, that kind of hard-ass credo is easier for me to follow than it would be for most, death not being a permanent set-back in my case. In situations like this, my peculiar brand of immortality is more of a blessing than a curse. Trouble is, I wasn’t the only one in this jam.
Other women—little more than girls, really—occupied the dungeon with me. We were chained in a line against a damp stone wall, each of us far enough apart from the rest that we couldn’t possibly touch or help each other in any way. I guessed from their pallid skin and soft bodies that the others weren’t going to be much help in getting us out of this predicament.
I hadn’t seen my own body in a mirror since I revived in this new incarnation, but I knew what I’d find; the “gift” from the gods that unhinged me in time also allows me to look more or less the same every time I’m reborn: trim and muscular, pale blue eyes, red hair—shoulder-length in this incarnation—and busty. Somehow, I always end up with big boobs; I figure the gods must like them. And so, judging from the endowment of my cell mates, do pervert clerics.
I assumed it was the priest who’d put me here, as the last thing I remembered before waking up in chains was accepting a drink from him. I really must learn not to accept wine from strange men, even when they drink from the same skin first. Either he had some magic that protected him, or he’d built up an immunity to whatever drug he slipped into the drink. I wondered if my fellow captives—there were five of us, counting me—had fallen prey to a similar fate.
I couldn’t see what I had in common with the other girls, aside from chest size. All had different skin and hair colors; three were human, one an elf. All four looked exhausted and terrified, their hair ragged, their eyes puffy from crying. They slumped against the wall, their chains hanging limply. I was at one end of the line, a girl with short, mousy-brown hair at the other.
I stood and tested the strength of the shackles. Though rusty, they seemed sturdy enough, and the walls were smoothly joined stone. This was no makeshift prison; whoever constructed it knew what they were doing—unfortunately.
“Hey!” I called. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Quiet! He’ll hear you!” said the girl with mousy-brown hair.
“Do you want to be next?” hissed the Elf, though I wasn’t sure if she was talking to Mousy or me.
“Next for what?”
“For the dragon!” the Elf replied.
“H-he took my sister!” the long-haired Brunette, chained next to Mousy, said between sobs. “He just came and took her!” I noticed an empty set of shackles at the start of the line, and I remembered hearing screams just before I woke. I wondered how long ago he had taken the sister—and was she the first victim, or just one in some kind of sick series? “The wall just opened up, and he dragged her through, and . . .”
“And you’ll be next if you don’t shut up,” the Elf shot back. “On second thought, keep talking.”
“Bickering won’t help,” the blonde in the middle of the line said. She looked older and a bit less haggard than the rest. “I’m Princess Rachelle of Narosh. Who are you?”
“Crimson. Just Crimson.”
“Crimson, how did you get here?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Last thing I remember was having a friendly drink with this priest, and then next thing I know, I wake up in this shit hole.”
Saying “shit hole” brought my attention to the stench of the place, a wonderful combination of dampness, mold, and human excrement. Some of my companions had not comported themselves with much dignity during their captivity, not that I blamed them. I looked at the wall the Brunette had indicated earlier, but couldn’t see any obvious door. In fact, I didn’t see any way in or out at all, just stone and mortar. Either the room was sealed by magic, or its exit was a secret door constructed by some very clever stonemasons.
“The priest would be Bentano Dracus,” Rachelle said. “He drugged you.”
“Where are we?”
“In the catacombs below Dracus’ church, I think.”
“And how do you know this guy?”
“Dracus was my father’s chief priest when I was a child. Years ago, the church kicked him out for . . . questionable actions. I heard he went to Lemagne and started his own church in an old, abandoned cathedral. I was passing through Lemagne when I was kidnapped. I woke up here.”
“Looks like Dracus’ actions have gotten even more ‘questionable’ in the intervening years.”
“I never did like the way he looked at me when I was a child. I like it even less, now.”
“So, who are the rest of you?” I asked.
“Look,” the Elf replied, “there’s no use getting to know us, because we’re all going to die!”
“I don’t want to die!” the Brunette sobbed.
“Quiet! He’ll hear you!” Mousy added.
“What? You think that shutting up will make this lunatic spare us?” I asked. “You think maybe he’ll get tired of feeding girls to dragons before he gets to you? Forget it! I’ve met guys like this before, and they just keep on killing until someone stops them.”
“Why is he doing this?” the Brunette wailed.
“Power, I think,” Rachelle said. She seemed almost completely calm now, and regal, even in this awful situation. “Bentano Dracus always wanted power.”
“No,” I replied. “People may say they do this kind of thing for power or some other motive—but the only real reason to chain someone up and kill them is because you get off on it. Dracus is no different. Thing is, this time, he picked the wrong victim.”
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THE GIFT OF THE DRAGONS
~ A Blue Kingdoms Story ~
Stephen D. Sullivan
Captain Ali al Shahar eyed the golden trinket in the girl’s hand. “So, Princess,” he said, “why is this bauble so important to you?”
Princess Makachiko Sunrii averted her brown eyes from the captain and adjusted her carefully fitted silk garments. “It’s been in my family a long time,” she said. “I didn’t want to see it lost.”
The captain shook his head. “That may be your story, but I’m not buying it,” he said. “Even with the pirate ship burning, and cutthroats all around you, you were more concerned with rescuing that necklace than with saving yourself. Why?”
Kor dar-Bek, the Starcutter’s first mate, nodded. The half-ogre’s huge frame completely filled the cabin door blocking the afternoon sunlight; his brutish countenance made the nod seem vag
uely sinister.
Makachiko frowned. “It’s really none of your business, Captain,” she said. “You may have rescued me from my captors, but neither I nor my family owes you any explanations.”
“True enough,” Ali said. “All I was promised for your return was a fat reward. However,” he continued, his hazel eyes growing cold, “I am captain of the Starcutter, and anything that may imperil my ship or crew concerns me. Rescuing you from the Purple Tern Brigands was dangerous. Taking you home, even with the pirates defeated, will be more dangerous still. Everything aboard this ship concerns me, including that necklace.”
“What the captain is saying,” Kor explained, “is that you either come clean about that trinket, or you practice up on your swimming.” The half-ogre’s eyes gleamed poison-green, and a wide grin cracked his gnarled face. He bowed slightly and added, “Yer highness.”
The princess looked alarmed, too alarmed, really, for one of her breeding. She glanced hopefully from the captain to the half-ogre and then back, pleading with her deep brown eyes.
Princess Makachiko’s looks were enough to sway the mind of nearly any man. She was round in the right places and slender in the rest. Her dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders. Her silken clothes, rescued from the pirates, clung lovingly to her figure, and revealed much of her tanned skin. “Captain,” she said, “please. . . .”
Ali folded his arms across his chest and gazed sternly at her.
“Give it up, girl,” the half-ogre said, laughing. “You’ll never win a battle of will against the captain!”
Makachiko sighed. “Very well,” she said. “It seems I have no choice but to tell you.”
She held the necklace out so that the captain and the half-ogre could see it better. The medallion glittered enticingly in the sunlight leaking through the cabin’s starboard porthole. The necklace looked like a tiny silver dragon. Its bejeweled form dangled from the end of the stout chain twined through the princess’ slender fingers. The dragon’s body curved into a sinuous “S,” and its blue gemstone eyes gleamed. It almost looked alive.
“This bauble, as you’ve called it,” Makachiko said, “was given to my father by the dragon queen Argentia Lumus—for services rendered during the recent Wizard War.”
Ali arched one dark eyebrow and studied the necklace carefully. “So you’re saying its value is more sentimental than monetary,” he said. “Somehow, I don’t buy that.”
Kor moved forward, ducking to keep his head from brushing the cabin’s top timbers. He laughed. “The captain’s heard enough fish stories to last his lifetime!”
Makachiko’s face reddened. “This necklace is a gift from the dragons. Its price is beyond measure!”
Ali’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“The dragon lady gave it the power to summon her people to my family’s aid!” the princess replied.
Kor dar-Bek frowned. “That’s a lot of fish-oil, too, Captain,” he said. “If the trinket has that kind of power, why didn’t she have the dragons save her ship from the Purple Tern Brigands? Or rescue her from their brig? For that matter, why doesn’t she call them now to ferry her back to Sunrii Isle and save us the trouble?”
“It will only work once,” the princess said icily.
The half-ogre scratched his stubbly chin. “Well, when your shipmates were being slaughtered might have been a good time to use it.”
“The pirates caught us by surprise,” the princess hissed. “And, besides, the necklace was immediately taken from me. Do you think I wouldn’t have saved my crew if I could have?”
The half-ogre shrugged. “From what I’ve seen of you so far, it’s hard to tell.”
“Enough,” Ali said. “Why the princess didn’t use the medallion’s magic—if it exists—is none of our concern.” His handsome face melted into a smile. “Besides, if she used it to fly home, how would we collect the reward for her rescue?” He balled up his fist and affectionately slugged the half-ogre in the left biceps.
Kor dar-Bek rubbed his bony head. “Well . . . if we get into another fix,” he said, “I hope her worship will be a bit more generous with her dragon-magic.”
Ali looked from the half-ogre to the princess. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly to her. “I’m sure we’ll have smooth sailing from now on.”
“I agree,” said a musical voice from the cabin door. “With their home base ablaze, the Purple Terns will be hard pressed to follow us. I saw no other Tern ships as I scouted the surrounding seas.” In the doorway stood Sarifa T’Liil, the Starcutter’s master-at-arms. The siren warrior folded her wings to duck through the cabin’s human-sized portal. “I have assessed the damage from the skirmish, Captain,” she concluded.
Ali nodded at the lightly-armored bird-woman. As usual, Sarifa appeared completely unfazed by the difficulties of the recent battle. Not one delicate red feather atop her head appeared out of place. “Go on,” he said.
“Many minor scrapes and bruises,” Sarifa reported. “Seven wounded, three severely—one may join his ancestors in the stars.”
“Who?” Ali asked.
“Old Tifek,” the siren replied.
Ali nodded grimly. “Is that Doran’s assessment?”
Sarifa nodded. “The physician’s Il-Siha training only extends so far. If you’ve any magic to spare, Captain, now would be the time to use it.” She looked at him hopefully.
Ali shook his head grimly. “I used all the ship’s blessing stones during the fight. I’m fresh out of miracles—even minor ones.”
“Maybe her worship can help,” Kor said. He turned toward the princess, bumping his brow on the rafters as he did so.
“I can’t use the necklace for just one sailor,” Makachiko said. “I have to save it for important things.”
“Every life is important,” Ali reminded her.
“Things that are important to my family . . . to my kingdom,” Makachiko shot back. “The power of the medallion is not mine to throw away as I please. It belongs to the whole kingdom of Sunrii.”
Kor glared at the princess. “What’d I tell you, Captain?” the half-ogre said. “The highborn are always trouble.”
“It’s not that I don’t care,” the princess explained. “It’s just that I have to consider my responsibilities. If I wasted the dragons’ gift on one lone sailor. . . . Well, what would the people of Sunrii say when the next typhoon struck?”
Ali looked from the princess to Sarifa. “Tell Doran to do what he can,” the captain told his master-at-arms.
The siren woman nodded curtly. She folded her red wings tightly against her back and turned to go. As she paused at the doorway, the sunlight silhouetted her lithe frame. To those inside the cabin, she looked for a moment like a fiery-winged angel—a messenger of light and darkness, bringing portents for mankind.
Suddenly, the ship lurched hard to its starboard side.
“Rogue wave!” Kor blurted.
Read more in “The Gift of the Dragons” found in Martian Knights & Other Tales and in single-story form at better e-book sellers everywhere!
* * *
ABOUT THE STORIES
Both novellas came about as ideas for the Blue Kingdoms: Shades & Specters anthology. I wasn’t sure which tale I wanted to use, so I decided to write them both.
Short stories are always tricky for me; I’m more comfortable with longer formats. One of the ways I’ve developed to cope with this is to not outline before I write. I dash off a few notes, a few characters, and then I go.
From the length of the notes on these tales, I should have known that they weren’t going to fit the 4000-6000-word format I’d assigned to the anthology. Heck, when all was said and done, they weren’t even going to fit the 8000-10,000-word format of my last Blue Kingdoms “short.”
But I didn’t realize that when I decided to write Festival at Wolfnacht. I chose to do Wolfnacht first because I had a feeling—accurate, as it turned out—that the other contributing authors for Specters were going to turn in sea-farin
g tales.
That was fine, and Jean Rabe (my co-editor) and I like to let contributors have their rein. The Blue Kingdoms setting is more than just an ocean-covered world, so I wanted to include at least one story set far from the shores of the World-Sea. I thought that Wolfnacht, mired in the snowy mountains, would be a good break from ship-bound tales.
Horror stories are tricky to write. Both of these are of the Ten Little Indians variety—that is, they build suspense by bumping off characters as they go, until the reader (hopefully) doesn’t know who will die next.
So, I needed a fistful of characters for Wolfnacht. That meant a good number of both riders (as victims) and townsfolk (to change into bad guys at the story’s climax). The Blood-Red Isle faced a similar “suspense through attrition” problem, and I arrived at a similar boatload-of-characters solution.
Silly me. The number of characters in the story notes should have been my second hint that neither tale would end up short.
Wolfnacht originated with an image in my head of a werewolf and unicorn fighting in the snow. Not quite the same image as the cover of this volume, but enough to instill in me a strong desire to write.
I had been itching to do a Unicorn Cavalry story for some time. I’ve got a cavalry trilogy in the works, and I wanted to “warm up” some of the characters from that proposal. Festival at Wolfnacht serves as kind of a prelude to that upcoming arc. Of course, now that I’ve written Wolfnacht, I see that I could expand the novella into a full-length book of its own, too.
Ideas beget more ideas; which is another reason that short stories are tricky for me.
In any case, I hope you’ve enjoyed my unicorns versus werewolves and zombies epic. (Drop me a line at my Yahoo group and let me know.)
As I worked on Wolfnacht I realized that it was going to be too long for the anthology. More pages means more cost, and—as the publisher of Walkabout Publishing—I wanted to keep the anthology’s price at $15 or less.
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