Into the Weird: The Collected Stories of James Palmer

by James Palmer

  The two of them followed the Mock-Man to a sort of galley. A well-stocked kitchen filled with food preparation equipment greeted them. It looked thoroughly ransacked. Cabinets were open and bits of bread and fruit lay on the floor.

  “Looks like Valaron’s beloved Skeleton Corps decided to get out while they still could.”

  Blackthorn nodded, marveling at the level of technology present here. It reminded him of a modern mess hall back on...where? He struggled with the name. Earth, of course, but he had the feeling of having been in a room very similar to this one, but he couldn’t call up the image. It was just...gone.

  “They must have felt the vibrations and feared the worst,” said the barbarian. “Unless they know something we don’t. We’d better find a way out, quickly.”

  Oglok, banging around in a far corner, gave a high-pitched growl.

  “He found stairs!” Blackthorn translated.

  The three companions bounded up the stairs as fast as they could while the Keep continued to shake and shudder around them. Once they found the way blocked by a piece of metal debris, but Oglok, with some magical assistance from Aria, easily moved it aside. At the top was a door designated 01 by a faded red stencil. Blackthorn rent it in two with his Sword of Light and they were free of the Keep. The late afternoon sun was beginning its dip into evening when they emerged from the side of the skeletal Keep’s massive jawbone.

  An armed melee greeted them as they emerged. The remains of Valaron’s Skeleton Corps was doing battle with Marna’s people, who had managed to completely surround them. The villagers attacked from the cover of the trees that ringed the front of the Keep, hurling rocks, sticks, rough hewn spears, and more than a few arrows at their one-time masters.

  Caught completely off guard, and having prepared only to flee, the Skeleton Corps were in no shape to fend off their attackers.

  These Skeleton warriors are being shown for the cowards they are,” said Blackthorn proudly.

  “And Marna’s people have finally decided to defend themselves,” Aria added. “Let’s give them a hand, shall we?”

  The three companions dove into battle, surprising the already perplexed Skeleton Corps’ rear. The already retreating soldiers were no match for them, and shortly every member of Valaron’s army were either down for the count or had fled on foot or horseback.

  Marna’s people cheered their victory, as well as the safety of Blackthorn, Princess Aria and Oglok.

  “We are glad you are safe,” said a thin but wiry young man with blond hair. Blackthorn remembered meeting him back at the village, and recalled that his name was Tarn.

  “What are you doing here?” asked the barbarian.

  “We thought about what you said,” Tarn answered. “When Valaron’s forces carried you away, we feared the worst. Some of the younger ones, along with myself, suggested we take up arms to rescue you, but Dar and the others forbade it. Then Lorna returned to us and told us about what you did for her. She is Dar’s wife. The Skeleton Corps had lied to us all these years, told us she was dead. The sight of her brightened Dar’s countenance, and he finally agreed that we should fight. We have decided to stop being cattle, John Blackthorn.”

  Blackthorn smiled. “I am glad to hear it. You’ve done well for your first battle. But we haven’t won the war yet.”

  Just then they heard a rumble of thunder from within the keep, and lightning seemed to dance in the huge skull’s cavernous eyes. After a minute of this, a silvery figure appeared, standing in the right eye socket, its arms outstretched and wispy silver threads whipping around it.

  “You think you could best me so easily, barbarian,” the figure blared. “Your pathetic sabotage of my equipment has only served to make me even more powerful.”

  “By the Pale Lord’s cloak, who is that?” asked Tarn.

  “Valaron,” said Blackthorn.

  “Yes!” said the thing that had been Lord Valaron as it rose into the air on arcs of blue flame. “Your Master as returned, rabble!”

  “Moons of Mars!” Blackthorn swore. “What have you done to yourself?”

  Lord Valaron was no more. In his place was a thin, silvery mummy rapped in burnt flesh and wire. Cold, mad eyes glared out at them from a face puckered and made hairless by an intense heat. The wires whipping around him seemed to grow out of his very skin like sentient worms.

  “I have become more than myself. More than human. Now even the First Men will not be able to challenge me.”

  “Another would-be dictator,” grumbled Blackthorn. “I’m getting really tired of this.”

  Valaron grinned at the barbarian. “Then you can be the first to die!”

  The tyrant thrust his right arm toward Blackthorn and a series of wires shot from his fingers, ensnaring the barbarian. Blackthorn raised his right arm and brought his Sword of Light down on the stinging threads, severing them.

  Valaron lashed out again, and this time hundreds of the tiny wires wrapped themselves around Blackthorn, pulling him like a marionette. He severed three, and four more took their place.

  “The mapping process was ended prematurely,” said Princess Aria. “That’s why I’m still alive and he’s...that thing.”

  “I’m listening,” said Blackthorn as he continued to hack and slash at the threads, even switching hands when a series of strands wrapped around his right arm.

  “He’s wired, but only partially, but he seems to be able to control the wiring mentally, or by pumping power through it.”

  Oglok growled and lifted one of the heavy rocks the villagers had used against the Skeleton Corps, hurling it up at Valaron, who dodged it easily.

  Princess Aria’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she touched her hand to her necklace. Behind her, Tarn and his warriors watched in fear and awe. She would only get one shot at this.

  The Princess closed her eyes. Concentrating, she could feel the energies transmitting to Valaron from the Keep’s machines, energies that were keeping Valaron alive, feeding him whatever power he needed. But there was a limit to that power. She formed a mental image of those machines in her mind, and let her necklace do the rest.

  A low rumble issued from deep within the Keep, a muffled explosion, and Valaron’s body spasmed. Blackthorn broke free from the last of the silver threads and jumped back, joining the Princess, Oglok and the villagers.

  Blue orbs of energy erupted from the Keep, enveloping Valaron. He gave one final scream as he disappeared in flashes of light. The great skull collapsed in upon itself and was silent at last.

  “You want to explain to me what just happened?” Blackthorn asked after a time.

  “I simply attacked what was left of Valaron’s machinery. It was feeding him power, but the connection was unstable. I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to overload his equipment, thus overloading him.”

  “That’s what we tried to do back in Valaron’s chamber,” said Blackthorn.

  “Is the sorcerer gone,” asked Tarn.

  “Yes,” replied Blackthorn. “But he was no sorcerer. Just a man meddling with science beyond his understanding.”

  “What is science?” asked Tarn, a confused look on his face.

  Blackthorn smiled. “Let’s return to your village and talk about it.”

  *

  The village celebrated their victory long into the night. Blackthorn left the party and wandered up a small hill overlooking the cluster of homes, their windows filled with the glow of electric light, a small miracle amid this ancient landscape ravaged by time. He sat down and admired the view, deep in thought.

  A short time later Princess Aria appeared beside him. He had not noticed her arrival.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “What?” Blackthorn stared up at her.

  She smiled. “I believe that is an expression from your time.”

  Blackthorn thought about it a moment, then slowly shook his head. How could she possibly know that? But he knew better than to ask. After all this time together, the Princess was still full
of surprises.

  “I was thinking these people party to excess.”

  Princess Aria sat down beside him. “Let them have their fun. They’ve earned it.”

  “I was actually thinking of Valaron,” said Blackthorn after a long moment. “A clever man who used the ancient technology around him to become a despot. Just like the Black Sorcerer and the First Men. Just like David Morningstar. How will this world ever get back on its feet with people like that running around?”

  “They won’t be running around much longer,” said the Princess. “We’ll stop them. And people like this will show mankind the way.” She gestured toward the village below. “You taught them well, told them the difference between science and sorcery, and encouraged them to not give into their fears about either.”

  Blackthorn nodded. “Science is a useful tool in the proper hands.” He sat quietly for a few minutes, then said, “If everyone else we meet is only half as resilient as these people, the Black Sorcerer won’t know what hit him.”

  Princess Aria smiled. “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  Blackthorn looked straight ahead, his keen eyes on the line of trees that grew beyond the village. “Tomorrow we ride. There are other settlements we must rally, and possibly more upstarts to take down a notch or three. Care to join me?”

  Princess Aria nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

  About the Author

  James Palmer is a 2014 New Pulp Award-nominated author, editor and publisher of science fiction and pulp adventure. He has written articles, interviews, reviews, fiction, and poetry for Strange Horizons, Writer's Weekly, The Internet Review of Science Fiction, Funds for Writers, Tangent Online, and other publications. He has written stories for Airship 27, Pro Se, White Rocket Books, and Moonstone. His fiction has appeared in Tales of the Rook vol. 2, Mars McCoy Space Ranger vol. 2, Gideon Cain, Blackthorn: Thunder on Mars, and other forthcoming anthologies.

  James is also the editor and co-creator (with former comics scribe Jim Beard) of the alternate history giant monster anthology Monster Earth and its sequel, Betrayal on Monser Earth. James also edited the weird western anthology Strange Trails as well as Robots Unleashed! A recovering comic book addict, James lives in Northeast Georgia with his wife and daughter. For more jacknapery, visit www.jamespalmerbooks.com

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