Writers of the Future Volume 31

by L. Ron Hubbard

  I’m fighting to stay awake. I want to sleep, to pass out so badly. I can’t help myself.

  I slip into the shadows, drift toward the dark.

  It fades to white, and I see my wife sleeping next to me, chest rising and falling as I watch her peaceful form. I get up and go to Caitlyn’s room. She claps when I offer to read her a bedtime story. She snuggles next to me as I start on her favorite book, giggling at the way I act out the characters in the pictures. She’s barely awake by the time I finish. I tell her that I love her with all my heart. She says she loves me too. She wants to know if I’m going to be around to read to her tomorrow night. “Of course, sweetie. Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

  It’s a nice dream.

  The God Whisperer

  written by

  Daniel J. Davis

  illustrated by

  Alex Brock

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Daniel J. Davis was born and raised in Massachusetts. He developed an early love for science fiction and fantasy by staying up late and watching movies. The stories on screen fired his imagination. Soon the ones on screen weren’t enough, and Daniel was creating his own stories.

  He only brings this up because his teachers always told him that TV would rot his brain. He would like to point out that they were wrong.

  Daniel doesn’t hold it against them, however. He also learned to read from some of those same teachers. Without them, he would never have discovered some of the amazing and fantastic worlds inside his favorite books.

  They were still wrong, though.

  He is a veteran of both the US Marine Corps and the US Army. In civilian life, he’s been a machinist’s apprentice, a security guard, and a building maintenance worker.

  He lives in North Carolina with an amazing wife, two dogs, and several piles of unread books. Writers of the Future is his first professional sale.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Alex Brock is twenty-three and an art student attending his last semester at the University of Arizona. He loves all things fantasy and creepy. He’s been drawing since he was a kid, but what really got him into art was Dragon Ball Z. The majority of his drawings from fourth to sixth grade were muscly guys with huge hair. He was really inspired by video games like Zelda and Oblivion, along with the awesome characters from Super Smash Bros. and SoulCalibur. He was also inspired, consciously and subconsciously, by reading such books as The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, A Song of Ice and Fire, Harry Potter, H.P. Lovecraft’s work and more.

  After his younger brother got a tablet in 2009 and Brock saw all the awesome stuff his brother was able to do in Photoshop, Brock got his first tablet. He became very interested in fantasy art shortly after discovering DeviantArt, and later CGHub. He tried his best to get on par with everything he saw on those sites, and now (while still trying to get on par) he is working on finding and creating his own niche.

  With his work, he strives to bring things that don’t exist in our world into reality, doing his best to imagine what they would actually be or look like. He aims to imagine settings and scenarios that would make his jaw drop if he ever saw them in person. Yet he still finds himself inspired by many of the old master painters from 1850–1950.

  Today Brock is taking his work very seriously. He is really excited to explore the darkest depths of his imagination on his journey through art.

  The God Whisperer

  When Jack got home from work on Thursday, he found a pyramid made of bird skulls in his flowerbed. Zu’ar—ancient god of death, strife, and war—must have gotten out of the yard again.

  “Ugh,” he said.

  More than anything, Jack just wanted to collapse in front of the TV. He wasn’t in any mood to deal with this right now.

  The carnage didn’t end at the flowerbed. Scattered across his lawn were more than a dozen freshly-skinned chipmunk carcasses. The pelts were strung up in his holly bushes, drying in the sun.

  This was getting out of hand. It was even worse than that time he’d owned a cat. At least the cat would just kill them cleanly, and bring them home as “presents.” But Zu’ar had these barbaric little rituals he had to observe.

  Instead of going through the front door, Jack walked around the back of the house. More death and carnage was strewn through the shrubs along the side yard. And sure enough, he noticed a small hole underneath the fence. He’d have to remember to put a trashcan there tonight, until he could get to the store for a bag of gravel.

  He decided to leave the back gate open behind him. If Zu’ar was prowling the neighborhood, Jack wanted it to be easy for him to get back in. He went inside and put his laptop bag down on the kitchen table. He got himself a glass of ice water.

  “Zu’ar!” he called. “Zu’ar are you here?”

  Jack didn’t hear him running around. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. He went into the living room, afraid of what kind of destruction he’d find.

  The end table next to the couch lay on its side. One of the legs was broken off and missing. Worse, his grandmother’s old lamp had been smashed into pieces.

  Jack sighed and rubbed his eyes. He could clean this up later. First he needed to take care of the mess out front, before the neighbors complained.

  Two hours later, just as Jack was placing a spiked rabbit’s head into a trash bag, he felt a dark and terrible presence behind him. The air grew cold. The wind took on the distinct smell of fire and decay.

  “Hello, Zu’ar.”

  He heard the rumble of the god’s voice inside his head.

  “Greetings, Cowardly Weakling.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Jack said.

  “I call you that because that is what you are,” the god thought. “My followers would have used you for chattel in their day.”

  Jack made a mental note to look up the word chattel tonight.

  “Look, you can’t keep going out and doing this.” He waved his arms around him, indicating the front yard and the flowerbeds. “I already told you that you could kill whatever comes into the backyard. The inside of the fence can be your realm of terror. I don’t care. But you have to leave the front yard alone. That sounds like a fair compromise, doesn’t it?”

  “Zu’ar does not compromise with mortals, Weakling. Mortals beg him for mercy.”

  Jack turned. Zu’ar stood before him defiantly, with his muscular legs spread apart. He glared at Jack with bone-yellow eyes. His beard was the color of blood. He was wide, powerfully built, and just a few inches taller than a Barbie doll.

  Zu’ar was wearing one of Jack’s old sweat socks as a shoulder bag. The bag-sock was filled with tiny spears. He had apparently carved their shafts out of the missing table leg, and used the broken lamp to make the tips.

  The smell of fire and decay intensified. The little guy was obviously due for a bath.

  “You really need to stop destroying my stuff. That lamp was an irreplaceable antique.”

  “I laugh at your sentimentality, Weakling. I was old before the mountains were young. My followers were among the first men to climb out of the Living Mud that spawned your kind.

  “Your ‘antique’ bauble was less than one hundred years old. That time is not even the blink of an eye in the span of my existence.”

  Jack studied Zu’ar. He stared straight at him, meeting his tiny gaze head on. One second ticked by. Then two. Then three. On the count of fifteen, the god blinked.

  Jack laughed to himself. “The ‘blink of an eye,’ huh?”

  “I was attempting to put it in terms your feeble mind would understand, Weakling. Perhaps I failed.”

  Jack sighed. “Right. I don’t suppose you’ll help me clean this up, huh? I’ve had a long day at work. I’d really just like to get this over with so I can relax.”

  “You do the work of children and wet-nurses, Weakling. I exi
st for greater things.”

  He watched Zu’ar go to the corner of the yard to relieve himself, before proudly walking through the gate and into the backyard.

  Jack woke with the sun shining through the shades. He rolled over sleepily and looked at the display of his alarm clock. It was blank.

  Jack shot bolt upright. What time was it? He stumbled out of bed, dragging half of the sheets with him. He fumbled in his pant’s pocket for his cell phone.

  He flipped the phone open and read the time: 10:37. He was more than an hour late for work.

  Jack swore. He looked back at his alarm clock. The power cord was gone. It had been ripped completely off.

  “Zu’ar!” he yelled. “Zu’ar, where are you?”

  “I am here, Weakling.” He walked into the room, carrying the wound-up cord in one of his tiny fists. He held up the frayed end with an evil smile. “I have created a scourge so that my enemies may know pain.”

  “You destroyed my alarm clock!”

  “Time is a human contrivance. I have no use for it.”

  “But I could lose my job!”

  “Fear not. I am confident that your sniveling ways will earn you another master to grovel before.”

  Jack rushed to his closet. He hurriedly started laying out his work clothes. “You aren’t going to think this is funny when I don’t have any rent money this month.”

  “On the contrary, I believe it would strengthen your character to live beneath the stars and fight for your food.”

  But Jack was already more worried about what he would say to his boss when he got to work.

  The boss had chewed Jack out when he arrived. He gave him a speech about responsibility, commitment to the company, and work ethic. Jack took the lashing like a whipped dog. He said “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” in all the right places. In the end, he’d escaped with his job. Now Jack was enjoying a very late, very short lunch break in the cafeteria.

  “Have you tried obedience school?” Cory asked.

  Jack popped a potato puffer into his mouth. Cory was the company’s IT wizard. He’d been solving Jack’s tech problems for years. He’d also been listening to Jack’s personal problems for a large chunk of that time.

  “I was going to,” he said. “I signed up for the class and everything. But Zu’ar ended up fighting with one of the other gods. It got so bad that the trainer asked me to leave.”

  “That bad?” Cory asked.

  “You have no idea.” Jack remembered the woman’s shriek of horror as Zu’ar strangled her precious little love goddess with a leash. He remembered the awful looks he got as he carried Zu’ar out of the store.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a god owner.”

  “Well, what about in-home training?”

  Jack gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t know. Isn’t that expensive?”

  Cory shrugged. “No more expensive than replacing all that stuff the little guy destroys on you.”

  Jack thought about it. Maybe Cory was right. He popped another potato puffer into his mouth, and chased it with a sip of Diet Pepsi.

  That night, he did an online search for in-home god training. There were several trainers in the area. He wrote down the number of the one that seemed the most promising, a woman calling herself “The God Whisperer.” He’d call from work tomorrow.

  And how long have you had this god in your home?”

  Doris the god trainer sat on Jack’s couch. She was a friendly, big boned woman, with dark hair that she wore teased up into a beehive. She had both the breath and the voice of a lifelong smoker.

  She’d need to interview Jack first, she’d said. Get a feel for Zu’ar’s living situation. Once she identified the problem areas with the god’s behavior, she’d be able to figure out what training steps were needed.

  “Um, I adopted him about six months ago.”

  She scribbled on her notepad. “Did his aggressive behavior start right away? Or did it develop over time?”

  “No. He was always pretty aggressive.”

  “Mmm-hmm. And I’m sorry, but I don’t have my notes from the phone call in front of me. Did you say he was a rescue?”

  “That’s right. I got him at the humane society.”

  She was in the middle of asking how much exercise Zu’ar normally got, when the tiny god stalked into the room.

  “Who is this woman, Weakling? Why is she in my house?”

  Doris wrinkled her nose. “Does he always bring that burning and decay scent with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Answer me, Weakling. What does this woman want? Why does she ignore me when I speak into her mind?”

  “That’s actually a very common sign of dominance with war gods,” Doris said. “They use it as a way to mark their territory. The scent is supposed to terrify more passive gods and mortals into submission. Have you ever tried to get him to stop?”

  “No, I mostly just ignore it.”

  Doris nodded. She scribbled a few more notes into her pad.

  “I will see this woman’s bones bleach beneath the sun, Weakling. Tell her I will not be ignored. Tell her she will hear me, or she will suffer the consequences.

  Jack swallowed. “Um, he says …”

  The trainer held up her hand. “No. Don’t pay any attention to him when he’s sending prophesies of doom into your mind. When you acknowledge that kind of behavior, it just encourages him to keep it up. You should only give him attention when he communicates in benevolent prophecies.”

  “Okay.”

  Doris closed her notepad. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Foster. War gods are some of the most difficult deities to care for. Their owners have to be assertive and in control at all times. They aren’t inherently ‘bad,’ but they only respect strength and ruthlessness. Their behavior can get out of control if you don’t prove to them that you’re the strongest member of the household. Do you think you’re ready to do that?”

  Jack looked at Zu’ar. He remembered how small and defenseless he’d looked in the cage all those months ago. Zu’ar had been sitting by himself in his little corner, while all of the other gods played and performed miracles together.

  He was alone. He had nobody. That was why Jack had taken him home. And now Jack couldn’t imagine putting him back in that situation. He loved the little guy.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  “Do not make me laugh, Cowardly Weakling. You will never be stronger than me. My followers were feared all across the ancient world.”

  Jack turned to say something. But he caught the trainer’s look out the corner of his eye.

  “Do not ignore me, Weakling. You will come to regret it.”

  Jack didn’t answer him. In a rage, Zu’ar kicked the wall. Then he stormed up the steps. A few seconds later, Jack heard him slam the bedroom door.

  “Good,” Doris said. “Now I’d like to ask you about his eating habits.”

  Jack came home from work to a pile of bloody pigeon feathers on the front walk.

  “Oh, no.”

  The training sessions had been going well. Zu’ar hadn’t slaughtered anything in weeks. He was even beginning to listen when Jack told him to do something. Things were actually getting peaceful around the house for a change.

  Now this.

  “Zu’ar? Zu’ar where are you?”

  “I am here, Weakling.”

  “I told you not to call me that,” Jack said.

  Zu’ar looked at the ground and slumped his shoulders, adopting a submissive posture. “I am sorry. I meant no offense. That is how I have named you for so long, I merely forgot. Please, forgive me.”

  Jack pointed at the pile of feathers. “What is this? I thought I told you, no more killing things in the front yard.”

  “I
know. I am sorry I broke your edict.”

  “What are you holding behind your back? Give it. Give it here.”

  Zu’ar held up a small necklace made of twine. Two fresh birds’ feet hung from the loop.

  “The eagle’s claw was a status symbol among my people, Mortal. I wanted to make you a similar gift.”

  “That’s touching. Thank you.” It was also a little gross. Jack was very careful to hold the necklace by the loop.

  Zu’ar peered up hopefully. “Is the Wise Woman coming to the house today, Mortal?”

  That was his name for the god trainer. “She is,” Jack said. “She’ll be here in a few minutes, in fact. We should go inside.”

  “The Wise Woman has much strength and authority. You should ask her to bear you some children. She would raise them into fine warriors.”

  Jack shook his head. Gods. What could you do with them?

  “I think she’d prefer a check,” he said.

  Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light

  written by

  Sharon Joss

  illustrated by

  Choong Yoon

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The daughter of a college biology professor, Sharon Joss was born in Oregon and raised in central California, where she learned at an early age to identify many different species of birds and desiccated road kill. She has worked as a waitress, bartender, and operating system software programmer for the space shuttle Columbia before earning a master’s degree in Management of Technology.

  At an early age, the novels of Rudyard Kipling, Andre Norton, and Ray Bradbury inspired her lifelong love of speculative fiction. As a child, she dreamed of speaking to animals and the magic of flight. Although she wrote (and illustrated) her first book at the age of nine, she did not begin to write seriously until 2009. Since then, she has written five novels and more than a dozen short stories.

  After living in upstate New York and Idaho, in 2012 she decided to return to Oregon, where she now lives amid a thicket of blackberry vines and writes full-time. Although she made her first professional short story sale in 2013; Writers of the Future marks her second professional publication.