Tag: fantasy

prompt: Start your story with the lines: “The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.”

available at Reedsy

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. Perhaps, if I was hung over, I’d have a clue, but I feel like I’ve had a good night’s sleep for the first time in recent memory.

I try to remember waking up and moving to where I stand, but there’s nothing. If I’d slept on the small sofa or in one of the armchairs that made up the totality of the room’s furnishings, I would be stiff and sore, not the case.

The thought tickles something in my mind — the case. What case?

I examine the room. Aside from the sparse furnishings, the room has nothing interesting to offer. The walls are covered in pictures of books on bookcases. The sort of thing that could be used as a backdrop for a play or movie. Light comes from a dozen recessed fixtures in the ceiling.

The oddest thing, though, is the lack of any door, window, or other opening. Just to be sure I’m not dreaming, I pinch myself — too hard. It hurts.

There’s too much I don’t know about what’s going on. I take stock of what I do know.

My name is Carmen Carina Alvarez, but I hate it. I go by “CC” instead of the names of my dead grandmother and great aunt. I’m 32, a police officer with a masters in criminal justice — so new the Captain says the ink is still wet on the diploma — and well on my way to making detective.

The last thing I can remember before this room is the Garvey kidnapping case. I was canvassing the apartment building…no, wait, I finished canvassing the building and was walking back out to the cruiser…. It’s all blank after that.

Well, I got in here somehow, and that’s how I’m getting out. I walk along the walls, feeling the slick wallpaper with its images of books on shelves. There has to be a seam somewhere.

I stop halfway along the second wall. Even if I can’t find a seam, I can make one. I reach for my knife in the pouch on my duty belt, only to realize I’m not in uniform.

I’m wearing my work clothes from my old construction job, pre-academy. Old cargo pants and a flannel shirt. No knife in my pocket, but I do have a pen.

I open it, press hard against the wallpaper and drag it back and forth over the same spot to get a hole started. It feels a little wrong to mess up my pen this way, but getting out takes priority.

A small hole becomes a larger hole, becomes a place to grab hold and rip. I work both directions from the hole, exposing the dull grey wall behind. With a three-handspan tall strip across the whole wall, I move on to repeat on the next.

It’s while I’m ripping a strip out of the third wall that I find the door. I wonder how they managed to paper over it on the inside for a moment, then decide it’s better just to get out.

There are no hinges on the inside, so the door must open out. I give it a push, but it doesn’t budge. Without being able to determine which side the hinges are on, I try shouldering it open, first from the left, then the right.

When trying the right side, I hear a slight crack. I back up and try again. Another crack but more faint this time. I need more mass.

I flip the sofa off its legs onto its upholstered back. It slides on the wood floor without much effort. I start from the far side of the room and run the sofa into the stubborn door like a battering ram.

The crack is much louder this time, and I see the door flex a little. I do it again and the sofa gets caught partway through the now open door, where a broken lock bracket hangs from the wall. Just beyond the sofa and door is a toppled bookcase.

I climb over the sofa and bookcase and examine the new room. Where the previous had a few furnishings and pictures of bookcases full of books, this one has bare, grey walls lined with mostly empty bookcases. Real bookcases.

I don’t see another door besides the one I just stepped through, so I examine the dozen or so books. They’re all textbooks I used in the past. Curious, I pick up the Intro to Criminal Justice book from my freshman year. I flip through it and see all my highlighter marks and notes.

It’s not just the same edition, it’s the actual book I used. There’s a rude drawing on page 317 that was already there when I bought it used from the campus store. I take a few minutes to look through all fourteen books in the room and verify that they’re all my copies.

As I finish examining each one, I put it on a middle shelf in the order I used them in school. Placed all together like that, they seem small and meaningless in a room full of empty shelves.

If these shelves were my life, would they have anything else on them? Well, pictures of family and friends, for sure. I’ve got trinkets from every city I’ve ever visited arranged on shelves at home. Nothing very big, just something I can stuff into my pocket or carry-on and remind myself of a trip.

A tin that used to be full of Almond Roca from the factory in Tacoma, Washington is the largest of them, while the smallest is a half-inch lapel pin that I picked up in a truck stop in Tijuana, Mexico.  It doesn’t look like I’ll have a chance to do any shopping wherever I am.

With no other doors in here, and another wall to strip the paper off in the first room, I decide to give myself a break. I search the shelves, looking for some small, forgotten item on the backs of the highest or lowest shelves. Climbing one of them, I feel something loose in the carved facing.

I jiggle it and a carved flower falls into my hand. Just under an inch, made of wood, and stained a deep brown, I turn it over a couple times and squeeze it in my left hand. Souvenir “shopping” done, I return to the first room to rip the paper from the last wall.

Instead of the room as I’d left it, though, I find all the walls repaired, the sofa back in place, the door still open, and a creature lounging on the sofa. I guess that she’s a demon or devil of some kind, based on the deep red skin, black horns and hooves, and the way she’s twirling the end of her tail in a clawed hand.

“Who are you?”

“Not important,” she says. “What is important is, what you are going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can fight, or you can give up. It’s up to you.” She has a gleam in her solid black eyes that makes me nervous.

“You mean I’m dead,” I say more than ask, “and now it’s time for judgement. Well, if you mean to take me to hell, I’m not going. I’ll fight.” I pull my pen out and brandish it like a weapon. It’s not much against those horns, but it’s better than nothing.

“Nothing quite so final or dramatic as that.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“You can go through the door,” she says, waving at the wall behind her that opens into a bright room, “or you can choose to rest here a while. I’ll fill the shelves with all the books you might want to read until you’re ready to start over.”

“Start over?”

“Yes. You can rest as long as you like—”

“Shut up,” I cut her off. “I’m not staying here.”

I look into the bright light of the open room behind her and recognize the surgical lights shining in my eyes. Without waiting for a response, I run toward the light.

“Wait! You can’t take that! Not so—”

I feel myself slam into my body as pain jolts throughout. I can barely hear her voice trailing off, “…fast, it’ll hurt.”

I’m awake and aware on the operating table. The anesthesiologist is in trouble for this one, but I don’t care. I feel the wooden flower held tightly in my hand. It was real, and I’m alive. All I can do is laugh.

prompt: Your character gets everything they ever wanted — only to realize the true cost.

available at Reedsy

Glory, honor, the chance to prove himself. For any warrior, this would be the chance of a lifetime. For Kendrick, however, prophesied to perform the greatest feat a person could, this was everything. The enemy was encroaching on his clan’s sacred lands. Not other clans, not even people, no. People knew well enough to leave sacred spaces unsullied.

No, these were abominations that shouldn’t exist. They had no connection to the land, no history in this place beyond the last few moons. In those few moons, though, they built their monstrous edifices close to the sacred river on one side and loosed their gargantuan beasts over lands that bordered the shared burial grounds of all the clans.

These giant creatures looked like people, but on an immense scale. If Kendrick was to drive them out, it would require his deep connection to the land. That, and the intelligence and keen minds of people compared to the slow, stupid giants.

Kendrick donned his uniform and headed out to scout the giants in the forest. They weren’t difficult to spot when one knew where to look, but they were surprising in their ability to be stealthy when they desired.

He came across a couple of them, both females. He used his years of experience to climb into the lower canopy without making a sound. If there were females here, there had to be males close by. They wouldn’t let their females wander too far without protection.

As he scanned as far as he could see, the giantesses below him grunted at each other, and one of them scratched marks on a stack of leaves with a stick that had a burnt end.

Clever, but hardly indicative of intelligence. It was likely she saw a person writing and was copying what she’d seen. The leaves were probably because they weren’t smart enough to make clay tablets on which to write.

A crashing in the brush caught his attention. Four males showed up and they grunted at the females. An exchange of grunts later, the females followed the males back into the heavy brush.

Kendrick waited until they were completely out of hearing and returned to the forest floor. Following them would be simple enough. Each of their footprints were as long as he was tall. The female had dropped her burnt stick. It had seemed small in her hand but was nearly as tall as him. The outside was coated in some sort of paint and was smoothed round.

For the time being, he hid the scratching stick in the brush so he could bring it back to the elders to study. He had tracks to follow, if he was to learn everything he could about the monsters. Only fools rushed to attack an enemy they didn’t understand, and Kendrick was not going to be a fool today or any day.

The giants covered great distances in a short time, their immense strides taking them through the forest at a pace unsustainable for any but the largest or swiftest creatures. Even here, though, people had an advantage over the monsters. Through their connection to the forest, people had developed methods of travel that far-outstripped walking or running.

The tracks led to a worn path the size of a major road. In parts, it was as wide as the entire village square. Kendrick followed it to the edge of the clearing where the giants had erected their constructions made from trees torn out of the ground and ripped into strips. He didn’t know how they accomplished that, but he didn’t want to face that kind of strength head-on. He would if he had to, but a harassing strategy was looking like his best bet and there was no one more capable of it than him.

He climbed a tree just a little way back from the clearing, all the way to the very top. Once atop the tree, he unfurled his wings from the pack on his back and jumped. To say he could fly would be an overstatement. Instead, the wings allowed him to soar, gliding down unless he caught a strong updraft. Here in the forest, those kinds of updrafts didn’t happen.

He managed to sail all the way back to where he’d stashed the burnt stick. The elders would know what kind of wood it was, and what kind of paint was on the outside. They might even know how the monsters found such smooth, straight sticks in the first place.

The stick wasn’t overly heavy, but it was too cumbersome to climb with, so he had to walk the rest of the way back to the village. It was nearing sunset when he returned.

Not wanting to alarm anyone with the giant’s stick, he snuck into the village from the back side and made straight for the elder’s hall. The walls were formed of a cottonwood tree that was grown around a clay form. Once the burl formed completely around the clay, it was hollowed out by breaking and removing the clay, and a door added.

Kendrick brought the stick to the elders, who sat around their table, enjoying mushroom soup by the light of a glow-worm lamp. “Elders, one of the monsters, a female, was mimicking writing with this burnt stick on a pile of leaves.”

They all rose from their meal and gathered around to examine the stick. “So smooth,” said the first. “This paint is so even,” said the second. The third sniffed at the blackened end, her forehead crinkled, and she scraped at it with a knife.

The look of consternation didn’t leave her face. The more she scraped, the more blackened dust it created. She grabbed a hatchet from the workbench and began chopping away at the end of the stick.

The more she chopped, the more concerned she looked. Finally, she began chopping at the middle of the stick until the black core showed there as well.

“This is a finely made instrument, not a painted, burnt stick.” She carefully carved away more of the wood from the dark central rod, until the rod broke. “Notice how soft the center is, in order to leave marks. This was not grown like this, either. It was made from dead wood and whatever this central rod is.”

“How can you tell, Grandmother?” Kendrick asked. She wasn’t his actual grandmother, but everyone in the village, including the other elders, “Grandfather” and “Great Aunt ,” called her that.

“Look here,” she said. “This faint line. This is two pieces of dead wood, joined together somehow.”

“You’re saying the giants are smart?” he asked.

“I’m saying they are like people,” she said.

“How will I fulfill my prophecy?” he asked. “If they were brute monsters, I could scare them from the forest and they would leave us alone for many generations. If you’re saying they’re as smart as people….”

“That’s not what Grandmother said,” Great Aunt cut in. “She said they are people.”

“But how? People know how to work with the trees for what they need, rather than kill them. They kill their own beasts and eat their flesh. They are monsters, through and through.” Just saying what he knew of them sent shivers down Kendrick’s spine.

Grandfather chuckled. “Did you think that combat was the only way to fulfill a prophecy? Maybe you’re meant to talk to them and ask them to leave.” He broke down in a coughing laugh until Grandmother caught his eye with her stern expression.

“Kendrick. You’ve worked your whole life toward this,” she said, “but maybe in the wrong direction. Still, take the skills you have and do what you can to keep the giant people from crossing into the burial grounds.”

“I will,” he said. “I will keep them out, even if costs my life.” He strode out of the elder’s hall into the lengthening shadows with a sense of dread purpose.

As the door closed behind him, he heard Great Aunt tut and exclaim, “Always so serious, that one.”

Kendrick spent the night preparing his weapons and trying to decide if anyone should join him as he went to confront the monster people. He ultimately decided he would be better off doing it alone. He set up a mind stone up in his room that would record everything he experienced. Every sight, sound, scent, and vibration; even those he didn’t consciously notice.

If he did die, the elders would know to look for the stone and discover what happened. Either way, he knew he was heading out to fulfill his prophecy.

It took two glides from the tallest trees to reach the trail at the edge of the monsters’ clearing. There was activity in the clearing, with the monsters using open fire to roast the flesh of their slain beasts.

It took all Kendrick had not to vomit, but he steeled himself as he had done in combat with the other clans in the past. The creatures were busy and not paying attention to the tree line, so he took advantage of that. He climbed to the top of one of the trees on the very edge of the clearing, careful to keep himself hidden among the leaves, his uniform providing perfect camouflage.

Three times as he moved into position, one or more of the creatures looked right at him. They must have excellent hearing, he thought. Each time, he froze and waited for them to look away. Since there was no other reaction from them, he was certain he hadn’t been spotted.

Kendrick readied his spear, unfurled his wings, and jumped. He wouldn’t be able to kill them with a single blow, but if he could get over the fire, he could ride the thermals up and keep diving at them and harassing them with his blade.

 Faster than he thought they would be able, one of the females turned and put a hand out, stopping him before he reached the fire. “And now I die,” he said. He froze. There he stood on her palm and any moment now, she would squeeze, and he would be dead.

The blow never came. Instead, the female grunted at him. It sounded like words. The accent was thick, but she was…speaking?!

“Wh—what?” he stammered.

“We’re not going to hurt you, little guy, but you gotta be careful. You almost flew into the fire.” He looked at the giantess. It was the same one he’d seen the previous day, and she had another of the writing sticks behind her ear.

Kendrick growled and raised his spear. “I was going to use the thermals to gain altitude. If you hadn’t seen me, you’d be bleeding profusely right now. I may have lost the element of surprise, but I challenge you all to combat!”

“Why do you want to hurt me?” she asked.

“You’re monsters! You eat the flesh of your beasts and kill the trees. You have no connection to the forest, and yet you are here, defiling it.” He held an aggressive pose on her palm, doing his best to keep from trembling.

“We don’t want to defile anything,” she said. “That’s why we chose this clearing under a dead tree and the wood from it to build our shacks. We’re only going to be here for a year or two, cataloging the animals, then, when we leave, the jungle will reclaim all this and, in a decade or less, it will be as if we were never here.”

“How do you speak the language of people?” he asked. “Are you demons?”

“I was going to ask how a little flying guy in the Amazon speaks Welsh,” she said.

Kendrick moved to jump. His first thrust would be her eye to incapacitate her. Glory was in his hands now.

His lunge was cut short by her other hand blocking him and taking the brunt of the blow. She didn’t even wince as the spear sunk into the meat of her palm. Instead, she pulled her hand away, taking his spear with it. A shake of her hand freed the spear to drop to the ground below.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Kendrick still doing his best to look intimidating. She broke the stalemate. “We’ve seen you several times over the past few weeks. We saw you watching us yesterday. You seemed interested in my pencil,” — another word he didn’t understand until she pointed at the stick behind her ear — “so, I left it for you.”

“How did you see me? I am invisible in the trees.” She shook off his strongest blow and it wasn’t even worthy of a mention. He felt glory slipping away.

She laughed; a monstrous, deep, booming laugh that made his knees weak. “If you want to be sneaky, maybe don’t wear chartreuse and orange.” He didn’t understand a couple of the words, but she smiled at him. “Those bright colors really stand out.”

Kendrick looked at his drab, spotted uniform. There was nothing bright about it. Maybe their eyes just worked different to his. This was getting him nowhere. He had a task, and it was time to do it. He thought about what Grandfather had said, joking or not.

He relaxed his stance. “My name is Kendrick, the strongest warrior of my clan. I have been sent to keep you from entering sacred lands.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kendrick, I’m Anwen. Now, which lands are your sacred lands?”

Kendrick turned in her palm and gestured to the west. “The river toward the sunset from here is strictly for the gods, and all the plants that grow on its shore as well. Do not drink from it, do not water your plants from it, do not allow beasts to drink from it, and do not eat anything that grows within a hundred paces of the river. That’s, um, my paces, not yours.”

“Oh, yes, the creek,” she said. “There’s uranium in the creek. That’s a poisonous rock. We will continue to avoid it. Anywhere else?”

He turned to the south. “There is a clearing to that direction, that lies along the sacred river. Nothing grows there except the stones that mark our dead before their soul travels the gods’ river to the afterlife. It is the shared graveyard of all the clans and is holy ground. Do not go there.”

“Of course,” she said. “We don’t want to disturb your sacred sites, and certainly not your graveyard. Although, one of the horses got loose last week and wandered close to there. Unfortunately, he ate some grass while he was near the river and is sick now. I don’t think he’s going to make it. Is there anywhere else?”

“That is all. I will not reveal the location of our village, or any other clan’s village.”

“You have our word, Kendrick.” Anwen smiled. “You can tell your people that we will be staying here, and in the jungle to the east while we study the animals around here. We’d like to learn more about you and your people, and let your people learn more about us, but we won’t force you. If any of your people want to hang out with a bunch of nerdy humans, you know where to find us. We’ll even make sure to cook vegetarian for you.”

“I never thought I’d talk to a monster, and I never thought a monster would turn out to be a person after all.” Kendrick wanted to get home, but that would require climbing at least twice, unless…. “Anwen, may I ask a favor?”

“Sure, Kendrick. What do you need?”

“Could you move closer to the updraft from the fire?”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m sure.”

She moved her hand over the edge of the fire pit, where Kendrick could feel the warm air rising. He unfurled his wings and jumped, circling to climb high above even the tallest trees on the rising column of air. As he circled ever higher, he caught sight of their food stores; baskets of fruit, mushrooms, strange vegetables he’d never seen, and the largest supply of honey he’d ever laid eyes on. One of them was putting it into a mug of hot water with a bag of something.

Once he was high enough, he left the thermal to glide home. He couldn’t wait to tell the elders about the monsters — giant people, he reminded himself — and their offer. There was to be no moment of glory or honor for a warrior. His single attack attempt had been foiled by only one of the giants, and he’d ended up just asking them. Still, he’d accomplished what he set out to do and he knew he would be back, if for no other reason than to sample their vegetables and honey.

prompt: Write about someone who summons the creative muse through a convoluted ritual or method.

available at Reedsy

Kiera was tired of waiting for inspiration to strike, she decided to force the issue. She’d recently gone off on a study binge and devoured the contents of dusty old tomes of summoning. Everything she found on calling forth entities from other realms was jumbled together in her head, and she was going to put it to use.

She set up a chair and desk in the center of her attic. Her laptop sat on the desk, next to a water bottle and a packet of pretzels. Around the entire setup she drew a circle in chalk.

Kiera placed a candle at each of the cardinal points. She followed each placement with a symbol drawn around the candle base, and chanting in what the books called “the language of angels.” It sounded more like mangled Latin to her, but she was ready to try anything.

It wasn’t one of the host of demons or angels or other entities she wanted to summon, though, so she replaced the name with “Mūsa.” After placing the fourth and final candle and completing the last symbol and chant, she sat at the desk and turned on her laptop.

She opened her writing app, and a cursor on a blank screen blinked at her. Kiera focused on her breath, and on the space around her. If she could’ve done it, she would’ve grown cat whiskers to feel everything within the circle.

The energy she spent trying to stay cognizant of every eddy and current of air in the circle kept her from feeling as silly about the whole thing as she probably would have, had she stopped to think about it. Still, she was at the desk, the evening sky was darkening outside the attic windows and her world shrank to the light of the laptop and the candles.

When she’d finished for the night, she had bashed out six thousand words and had figured out how to build the transition to the next chapter. Kiera did feel a little silly chanting the dispelling portion of the ritual, but if she was going to do a thing, she’d damn well do it complete.

Seeing how well it had worked, Kiera decided to repeat the ritual the following afternoon. She had ten hours free, and she was going to put them to good use.

The chalk circle and symbols had faded, as though they’d been half-heartedly swept up. Just as well, as the entire ritual itself seemed to have unlocked some part of her mind that let her write uninterrupted for hours.

Kiera redrew the circle, placed new candles, drew the symbols, chanted the incantations. She sat and opened her writing app. No sooner had the cursor appeared than she felt a stirring of the air behind her.

She was still wondering if she should turn around and show herself that she was imagining something when she heard it. “Why?” the soft voice behind her asked.

Kiera whipped around to confront the intruder, who shrank back against the invisible barrier created by the summoning circle. It was a small figure, about the size of a small child, but as Kiera’s vision cleared, she could see they had eyes that held eons in their depths.

“Are you…?” she let the question drift off.

The figure still huddled against the invisible wall. “Your muse. Please don’t do it.”

“Do what?” Kiera held out a hand. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I don’t want to hurt you. What’s your name?”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “No, if I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.”

They seemed to relax some. “A muse doesn’t have a name, unless their assignment releases them by giving them a name.”

“Assignment?”

“You are my assignment.” Despite the more relaxed posture, the muse’s eyes carried a look of resignation rather than relief.

“What were you afraid I would do to you?”

“You have me trapped. You’ve summoned me to the physical plane, and I can’t leave until you release me.” The muse sat at the edge of the circle. “You almost got me yesterday, but I managed to stay out — barely.”

“I don’t even — well, until just now anyhow — didn’t believe in any of this. It was just a way to force my brain to focus on the work.”

“But you did believe it would summon your muse, and that’s why I’m here.” The muse continued to watch Kiera with a wary eye. “I’m just not part of your own mind, like you thought.”

Kiera crossed her arms. “What sort of thing would a person do to their muse that scares you so much?”

“This.” The muse closed their eyes and visions swam before Kiera. A circle, much like the one she sat in, but larger, surrounding a two-story house. In the circle,  just outside the house, the muse clawed at the barrier, shrieking in pain as they wasted away, as though they were starving to death in time-lapse. In the house, an elderly man stood nude, painting directly on the plastered wall. Kiera recognized the piece; Saturn Devouring One of his Children.

The vision faded and Kiera understood. “You were Goya’s muse, and he summoned you.”

“He was my assignment,” they said, “and he summoned me. He wouldn’t let me go for over three years, and my rage and pain filled his Black Paintings. When I was little more than a husk, the circle was dispelled by someone else. I still don’t know who.”

“Wait, if I take inspiration from you, it uses you up?”

“A little.”

“What restores you?”

The muse shrugged. “Rest. Enjoyment. Leisure.”

Kiera pursed her lips. “You really are a fickle muse, you know. It’s like you’re here, filling my head with ideas for a few days, then you disappear for weeks. Does it take that long to recover?”

“It…shouldn’t. I’m just…broken.”

Without thought for the little muse’s worry, Kiera knelt before them and gave them a hug. “You’re not broken. You’re wonderful. You’ve given me so many good stories over the years.”

“I just haven’t been right since—”

“Yeah.” Kiera continued to hug the little muse as they relaxed into the hug and began to weep. “You have some trauma to deal with, and I’ll help you any way I can.”

“Thank you,” the muse said. “Can I leave now? I’m not used to being in the physical realm.”

“In one minute.” Kiera leaned back and looked into the muse’s eyes. “You said you only get a name when your assignment names you, right?”

The muse nodded.

“Well, I can’t keep referring to you as ‘hey you,’ so let’s pick a name. Are you male or female?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Kiera thought for a few seconds. “How about a name that works for either or both. Do you prefer Pat, Alex or Jesse?”

“I quite like the sound of Pat. It’s small, like me.” There was a hint of something more than fear or resignation behind the muse’s eyes; something like hope.

“Well then, your name is now Pat. I look forward to seeing you again soon, Pat. And really, thank you for all the stories.” Kiera chanted the dispelling chant, and the chalk circle faded.

Pat still stood before her. “Now that you have named me, you have no power to summon me. You’ve freed me, but I’ll come back soon,” they said as they disappeared from the physical realm.

Kiera sat back down at her laptop. “You better, Pat. But only after you take care of your own well-being.”

She typed away for hours. The horror of Pat’s ordeal, fresh in her mind, provided the fuel for the harrowing closing scenes. It was as the sun was rising that she stopped, having finished the first draft; the final chapters flowing out of her like a gushing river.

She opened the page of the document that contained the forward material and added, “To my muse: You’re not broken, but we all need someone to lean on from time to time. For all the times you were there for me, I want to be here for you. Thank you, Pat.”

prompt: Write a story about a someone who’s in denial.

available at Reedsy

Fenrik’s world had turned upside down in a heartbeat; his hand had been forced. With devastated armies, his generals began to field adolescent children and any elderly person that could hold a rifle. Had he not signed the terms of surrender, his people would continue to be slaughtered.

They had let him keep his title, at least in name. What true king answers to a higher authority, and what true elf answers to the authority of barbarous humans?

The humans had taken away all his generals that led the troops of children to stand trial for “war crimes.” Fenrik wished they’d left it to him. Every last one of them would be executed for failing him so totally.

From his throne, he couldn’t see the remnants of the King’s Guard barracks; the only part of the palace complex that had been hit by drone strikes. He knew the damage outside the palace was worse. Every factory, shipping yard, rail yard, and the most key bridges into the capital lay in ruins. It wouldn’t, however, be like that for long. He didn’t notice the aide entering from the side door.

“Your Majesty, the human advisors,” she spat out the word, “are waiting in the conference room.”

He looked at the bowing woman. Second child of a lesser Duke and Duchess, in service as an aide in hopes to increase her family’s influence. “Thank you, Lisbet of Nordfen. Fret not, child, this is temporary.”

“Of course, sir. Does Your Majesty require anything further?”

“No, Lisbet. I should go deal with these barbarians.” She backed three steps before turning around and standing upright, then exited the same door she’d come in. The king stood from his throne and kept his gaze locked on the main door where guards waited for him. He knew that a glance out the window to his left would show the destroyed barracks while a glance at his guards would show him they were unarmed.

His nose wrinkled at the stink of the conference room. The odor of the foul, black beverage the humans drank filled the room and seeped into the carpet and drapes and furnishings.

“When you are finally defeated, I’ll have to burn this room back to the stone walls and floor and rebuild to get rid of your stink,” he said.

A dun-skinned human woman with black hair and nearly as dark eyes stepped forward. “A pleasure to meet you, too, King Fenrik. Fresh coffee is over there, along with pastries. I’m—”

He interrupted her. “Madame Secretary Alexandra Silva, the human Secretary of State from Westermarch. I know who you are. Do you not know how to address—”

“A king?” she interrupted back. “Of course I would, if our positions were different. In our role as advisors, it behooves us to become comfortable with each other. That isn’t going to happen if we’re busy tripping over ‘Your Majesty this’ and ‘Madame Secretary that’ and other nonsense.”

Fenrik’s eyes narrowed. If he’d had his sword, he would kill her where she stood for her insolence. She smiled at him, unfazed by the glare he threw at her.

Behind her stood General Howard Mackenzie, leader of the combined human forces that had finally defeated the elves. Shorter than both Alexandra and Fenrik, slight of build and with a sun-darkened mahogany complexion under close-cropped dark brown hair, his bright brown eyes were framed by large, square glasses that were incongruous with his dress uniform. He hid a wealth of tactical know-how behind his sun-lined face and renowned strength in his unassuming frame.

“King Fenrik, I’m General Mackenzie, but everyone here just calls me ‘Howie.’” He pulled a chair out for the king at the head of the conference table. “Please do have a seat, so we can get started.”

Stepping past the General, Fenrik saw a small woman already seated at the table. She looked like a pale human with pink cheeks and grey eyes under lank, blonde hair, out of which he saw the tips of half-pointed ears poking out.

“Pleased to meet you, King Fenrik. I’m Maddison Ostfern, assigned legal representative from the International Court. I would’ve stood, but…,” she motioned to the wheelchair in which she sat.

Fenrik sat, noting that his chair was no higher than the others. His personal chair had been removed from the room. All to the better, as it would’ve been ruined by the odor of the coffee. He muttered under his breath, “A half-breed … impure enough to be a cripple.”

Maddison smiled at him. “I’ll have you know that I’m a ‘half-breed’ because my father was smart enough to defect decades ago, and I’m crippled because one of your soldiers put a bullet in my spine while trying to assassinate my father twelve years ago.”

The general sat and leaned forward on the desk. “In here, you are not the king. You’re just Fenrik, and if you’re smart, you’ll do what needs to be done to help your people recover. A good first step would be to not insult the representative of the International Court. Apologize to the lady.”

Fenrik wasn’t sure whether it was fear of the general or just being out-of-sorts, but he said, “My apologies, Madame Representative.”

She nodded. “Accepted. Howie, why don’t you start us off with the security agreement.”

Fenrik sat in a state of fugue while the general talked about the security zone on the borders with Westermarch and Cantonia, the deployment of troops from Westermarch, Cantonia, and Umberland to bases within his own kingdom, something about dismantling their artillery and air defenses and handing over the airports to private interests.

The Secretary General spoke at length about an upcoming referendum, wherein the people of his kingdom could choose the form of government they preferred. Not that it mattered, he was king by right of birth and the gods. That didn’t worry him in the least. The elves of Oskela would never turn their back on their beloved royals. Even if Fenrik was made to step down, his daughter Ferin would take over as queen — she was old enough now.

He was pulled back into the moment by the silence around the table. All eyes were on him.

“Right,” Maddison said. “I think a break is called for.” She wheeled away from the table and carried her mug in her lap to the coffee pot.

The general stood and stretched before refilling his cup and Alexandra had somehow filled her cup, plus another, and set a pastry in front of Fenrik before he noticed. He watched as she mixed sugar and cream into both cups and sat down next to him.

“Oskela really does have the best pastries in the world,” she said, taking a bite of her own. “It was the thing that I remembered most from doing my student exchange thirty years ago.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Fenrik said. “My brother’s on his way back with the northern army to retake the capital and drive you all out. He’ll select new generals that won’t let me down, and Oskela will make good on her promise to reclaim the stolen lands along our borders.” He chewed on the pastry without tasting it.

“Your brother’s—”

“Prince Edrik will be here any day now!” he thundered. He choked down the pastry with a throat gone dry.

Alexandra put a gentle hand on his. “I’m so sorry, Fenrik. I know how hard it is to lose someone. Edrik was killed three days ago, and the northern army is in shambles.”

He wanted to lash out at her for touching him but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He took a sip of the coffee in front of him without thinking. It was better than he expected, in fact, it was good, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. “I need some wine. Why is there no wine?”

“Alexandra, if you like, I can go get some,” Maddison said.

Alexandra shook her head.

Fenrik pulled his hand away from hers. “My brother’s coming back any day, and your lies won’t fool me.”

“Listen here—” the general began before Alexandra cut him off.

“Howie, let him be. He’s just lost his brother and his country.”

Fenrik drank more of the coffee, trying to hide his like for the bittersweet drink. “My daughter should come home to greet her uncle on his triumphant return.”

Alexandra sighed. “The princess is already flying back from the tropics. She should be here this evening. Why don’t we call it here for the day, and pick up tomorrow afternoon, after you’ve had some family time?”

Fenrik finished his coffee before leaving the conference room without saying another word. Once the doors shut, he listened in to the conversation on the other side.

“Do you think he’s cracked?” the general asked.

“No, Howie, he’s in denial but he hasn’t gone nuts. Grief is weird like that,” Maddison said.

“Right. Denial first, then anger, bargaining, despair, and finally acceptance. I hope he’ll let us help him through that,” Alexandra said. “Although, his daughter may need some support to deal with her father through this.”

“What about the royal physicians?” Howie asked.

“Good idea. I’ll have them assign a couple therapists for the king and the princess,” Alexandra said, “and you make sure they’re protected and sequestered.”

“Yeah,” the general said, “wouldn’t do to have someone influence one of the royal therapists.”

“Worried about hardliners?” Maddison asked.

“No, more worried about the anti-royalist faction that might convince them to do something….” The general let his statement trail off.

Fenrik stormed back to his throne, his guards rushing to keep up. He kept his eyes fixed on the throne lest he look out the window and see … he shook his head and continued to his throne. First stage, he thought, nonsense! I’m not in denial, Edrik is on his way, right? He’ll be here soon, right? Yeah, he’ll be here soon.

prompt: Imagine an origin myth that somebody might use to explain an eclipse, or some other celestial event.

available at Reedsy

The Dance of Heaven, a Holy Writ of the Conscious Universe.

A sacred text to preserve the knowledge of humankind and our place within the heavens. May we ever preserve and so pass it on to our future generations.

Book One: Understanding

Chapter One: The Beginning

The story of the origins of everything, and the tale of how humans came to understand the universe, as interpreted from the writings of the wise ones from before the apocalypse.

1. In the emptiness before time, the universe was singular and lonely. Succumbing to the loneliness, it decided to procreate. It could not make a new universe, but it could split itself apart, spreading its consciousness into new things. And so, it expanded until it exploded, turning itself into stars and galaxies.

2. Many of those stars were also overwhelmed by the loneliness of the universe. That loneliness was still too concentrated in them, so they then exploded into new things, spreading the consciousness of the universe even more. From those new things new stars were born.

3. The sun was one of those stars. As loneliness is a natural state of the universal consciousness, the sun felt lonely. Unlike the universe itself and the sun’s earlier siblings though, it was surrounded by the dust made from the explosion of those earlier stars.

4. Every piece of the universe, down to the smallest mote surrounding the sun, was motivated by loneliness to seek out companionship. The sun watched as the dust gathered together in ever-growing clouds. As the clouds circled around the sun, they grew, collecting more of the universal intelligence as they did.

5. When a cloud of dust grew large enough, it would crush in on itself, trying to unite its matter as the universe once was before time. The new planets grew enough that they could commune with the sun, dancing the dance of the heavens and singing the song of the stars. One of those planets formed too close to another and could not keep itself from crashing into it. That collision merged their matter and created a new moon that circled the planet in the same way the planet circled the sun.

6. Many of the planets were circled by moons, but the third planet, Earth, was special. Its moon was far larger relative to its size than others. In addition to this, this planet was at the right distance from the sun to hold water on its surface. 

7. One day, Earth, in its song, said to the sun, “I have new things on me, that have been made without splitting myself. These things form on their own, and multiply.”

8. The sun said, “We shall call these new things life, and we shall watch them closely. They may be the answer to the loneliness of the universe.”

9. That life continued to change and grow, becoming every living thing on Earth. The sun was fascinated with life and wanted to sing with it as it did the planets. Life, however, had its own mind. It had formed from the matter of the universe but sought communion not with the stars, but with others of its own kind. Life did not hear the song of the stars nor understand the dance of the heavens.

10. Both Earth and the sun focused all their attention on life, ignoring their kin. Some of the bodies, already far away from the sun, sought its attention by flinging themselves in as close as they dare, boiling off some of their body each time they passed by. Still, the sun was focused on the life on Earth.

11. The moon became jealous of the attention the sun gave to life and tried to block the sun’s view of Earth. It was too small to block more than a portion of Earth from the sun’s view, but the sun saw the moon’s shadow and encouraged it.

12. The sun said, “Moon, you are wise. We have waited for life to commune with us, to see our dance, to hear and sing our song, but they have not. You can show them wonders which will turn their gaze to us in the heavens.”

13. And so it was, as life grew ever more intelligent and consciousness arose, the moon continued to dance between Earth and sun, trying to earn the sun’s approval and attention. One day, when the moon danced between Earth and the sun, a hunter stopped, startled by the sudden darkening of the sun.

14. After the moon had moved on and the light of the sun returned, the hunter ran to the clan to tell the elders about the shadow he witnessed crossing the disk of the sun. That was the point when life, in the form of man, began to watch the dance of the heavens, trying to hear the song of the stars.

15. Earth shared with the sun and moon and all its siblings the change in the behavior of the humans. They had started looking up to the heavens almost as much as at the world around them.

16. This was enough for life to earn the moon’s desire to commune. After this, the moon continued its dance but turned its gaze to life. It danced not for the sun’s attention, but for life’s.

17. Soon, all the planets and their moons felt something new beyond loneliness: the joy of their song playing out for an intelligence formed of the universe but still somehow outside the lonely intelligence of the universe itself. The conscious mind of humanity, searching the cosmos, saw vast loneliness there, but still awed at the beauty of the dance of stars and planets — the dance set to the music of the heavens they could not hear, but the rhythm of which was clear to them.

18. The natural state of the universe is still lonely, but the rise of consciousness has added hope and wonder, awe and humility, and countless other emotions that are shared among all consciousnesses, including that of the universe itself. Thus it is that the universe is, in some small way, less lonely than it once was.

19. It is, therefore, the place of humanity to study, to wonder, and to revel in all that is revealed in the dance of the heavens and song of the stars. Sharing that wonder, awe, and joy with the universe is the purpose of all life, and of humanity in particular.