Far Fetched Fables

This month’s cover art is “Abyssal” by Jason Deem, a designer, art director, and illustrator who mostly creates fantasy and horror art, and is the resident cover artist for Grimdark Magazine. You can find him online at spiralhorizonart.com, or in real life in Dallas, TX. First Story: “Raikou and the Shi-Ten Doji” by Ed Ahern (Originally published in Eternal Haunted Summer, Autumn Equinox 2013) A long time ago the capital of Japan was Kyoto, the city of blossoms. The Mikado and his court lived in Kyoto, a place of beautiful shrines and temples. But the capital was troubled with many thieves and murderers who snuck through the city gates at night. Even worse were the evil imps, called onis, with horns, and long fangs, and tiger skin loin cloths. These onis would prowl...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Flash Fiction: “Old Blood” by Jeremy Szal (Originally published in Saturday Night Reader, September 2015) They said you couldn’t kill Old Blood, direct descants from the First Men, blessed with wisdom and the ability to peer into the future. It seemed that a blade between the ribs did just the trick. I doubted Lord Commander Roran had predicted that move. I stood in the Commander’s place, leading the Amelleus army. My army.  There were thousands of men bathed in the morning’s pale glow, standing silently in the frosty fields as snow gathered on their helmets. They held shields of Dwenish metal, brandished their swords and flatbows, the arrow tips swathed in poison. They twisted spears that glinted in the sun, maces and warhammers from the far south of Ikbsah, where death was an art and red was the artist’s colour. Born in 1995 with a twisted sense of humor and...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

“Rosaraie de l’Hay” by Jay Lake & Ruth Nestvold (“Tales of the Rose Nights” #3, originally published at Daily Science Fiction.) In the steep-walled country of Hy Rugosa, where the women guard their swords and the men guard their tongues, dwelt a daughter of the fey named Roseraie de l‘Hay. She had been born to gentility, armored in beetle carapaces and twinkling magic while still in her willow-wood cradle, and grown slowly in the manner of the fair folk into a woman of subtle beauty and profound power. Jay Lake lived in Portland, Oregon until his death in 2014, shortly before his 50th birthday. His books include Kalimpura from Tor and Love in the Time of Metal and Flesh from Prime. His short fiction appeared regularly in literary and genre markets worldwide....  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

“Wednesday’s Child” by Jon Michael Kelley (Originally published in Father Grim’s Storybook.) “Good morning, Miss M.” The voice, lecherous as a dank cellar draft, seemed to travel low to the ground, as if slithering out from beneath a rock. She instantly froze, the spoon halfway to her mouth. She’d heard that voice once before, here on this very same glade, and knew that it originated from a primal and universally shared nightmare. Her skin, pupils, every follicle of hair reacted protectively as icy adrenaline surged to oil her limbs. She dared not turn around, as she knew with all certainty that what had crept upon her was a lethal, liquid-black grotesquery unparalleled in her world. Highly venomous, but not a snake. Not any reptile. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast,”...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

First Story: “When the Harlequin Dances” by C.L. Holland (Originally published in Bards and Sages Quarterly, January 2010.) The bells rang out over the city. They sounded mournful, at odds with the carnival brightness in the streets below me. I was perched on the ledge halfway up the Azielto Tower, watching as the city folk thronged through the streets to find the best spot to see the Harlequin Parade. A better view could be had from higher up the tower, but to go any closer while the bells rang was to risk deafness. And madness, so the stories said. C.L. Holland is a British writer of fantasy and science fiction, and winner of Writers of the Future. Sometimes she writes poetry under an assumed name. She has a BA in English with Creative Writing, and MA in English, and likes to learn things for fun. She lives with her...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Featured Story: “The Forest Lord” by Sarina Dorie (Originally published in The Urban Green Man.) The summer day I moved into my cabin in the woods, I knew something wasn’t quite right. It started with the way the aspens and alders scratched against the wood paneling of the house, sounding like words, and swaying when there was no wind. During the process of unpacking, I set my glass of orange juice on the porch railing. It disappeared and later reappeared in the same spot, only empty. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched when I walked along the long driveway to my mailbox. As I picked strawberries from the overgrown garden, I saw a figure move out of the corner of my eye, but no one was there when I looked up. By day, Sarina Dorie is a public school art teacher, artist, belly dance performer and instructor, copy editor, fashion designer, event organizer and probably a few other things. By night, she writes. As you might imagine, this leaves...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out

“The Dark Down There” by Joe R. Lansdale (Originally published in Dead Man’s Road, October 2010.) Reverend Jebidiah Mercer smelled them before he saw them. They came out of the brush along both sides of the trail. There were four of them. One had a pistol, one a shotgun, the other two were carrying digging tools, a shovel and a pick. His hand went swiftly inside his coat, pulled his .36 Navy Colt. Before the fellow with the shotgun could lift it, the Reverend shot him right between the eyes, spraying blood and brains out the back of his head in a mess that looked like vomited strawberries. A pistol shot whizzed by Reverend Mercer’s head. He shifted in the saddle and fired twice, aiming low and letting the revolver buck. The first shot caught the shootist in the balls. The second shot found a spot on the center of his chest and nestled...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Flash Fiction: “Green Ice” by Jay Lake and Ruth Nestvold (“Tales of the Rose Nights” #2, originally published at Daily Science Fiction.) The Moon is mistress of the tides, which means she controls the blood of men, for their red-washed veins flow with salt, echoing the sea that is mother to us all. When she calls men to her, they rise to her attendance. When she refuses them, they drown in tears of sorrow. Women, though, follow a flow and rhythm of their own, still in Sister Moon’s power, but free from her compulsions. So it was that among the greatest of the Rose Knights serving under the Moon’s banner in her wars with the Army of the Sun were the flowers of womanhood. Green Ice stood strong among them as the Green Knight, her armor a shade so pale as to be nearly white, her...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Story: “There’s a Hole in the City” by Richard Bowes (Originally published in Sci Fiction, June 15, 2005) Wednesday 9/12 On the evening of the day after the towers fell, I was waiting by the barricades on Houston Street and LaGuardia Place for my friend Mags to come up from Soho and have dinner with me. On the skyline, not two miles to the south, the pillars of smoke wavered slightly. But the creepily beautiful weather of September 11 still held and the wind blew in from the north east. In Greenwich Village the air was crisp and clean with just a touch of fall about it. I’d spent the last day and a half looking at pictures of burning towers. One of the frustrations of that time was that there was so little most of us could do about anything or for anyone. Downtown streets were empty of all traffic except emergency vehicles. The West and East Villages from Fourteenth Street to Houston were their own separate zone. Pedestrians...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

“While the Gods Laugh” by Michael Moorcock (Originally published in Science Fantasy, October 1961.) One night, as Elric sat moodily drinking alone in a tavern, a wingless woman of Myyrrhn came gliding out of the storm and rested her lithe body against him. Her face was thin and frail-boned, almost as white as Elric’s own albino skin, and she wore flimsy pale-green robes which contrasted well with her dark red hair. The tavern was ablaze with candle-flame and alive with droning argument and gusty laughter, but the words of the woman of Myyrrhn came clear and liquid, carrying over the zesty din. “I have sought you twenty days,” she said to Elric who regarded her insolently through hooded crimson eyes and lazed in a high-backed chair, a silver wine-cup in his long-fingered right hand and his left on the pommel of his sorcerous runesword Stormbringer. “Twenty days,” murmured the Melnibonéan softly, speaking as if to...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

First Story: “Unraveling” by David Steffen (Originally published in the July 2014 Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine.) He passed from his study to his map room. One full wall of the room was covered in a map of the world. A red light pulsed in Michigan. That’s where the alarm had happened. On his own turf, where no other weaver had been known to establish themselves for two hundred years. From the drawer he pulled out smaller maps and found the glowing light there. The address was only a hundred miles away from his own house. A quick Internet search found that the address was registered to Hilda Freitag. Of the dozen weavers in the world who could make a soulbox, she was the most crafty. No one seemed to know her age, but Cavendish suspected that she was the oldest of them all. She had already been powerful when Cavendish was raised up some six hundred years before. He...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Cover art for this month is by Kassandra Leigh, a photographer, model, and self-professed dweeb with no social skills, chronic ailments, and a supreme appreciation of “me” time. She likes to take peectures of pretty, sexy, and creepy things, soft tacos with no lettuce, spooky supernatural anything, playing mages in Smite, heavy metal, the Sith Code, and things that start with the letter “C”: cats, camera gear, cold weather, cosmetics, clothing, and caffeine — but not candids.   Flash Fiction: “Osiana” by Jay Lake & Ruth Nestvold (“Tales of the Rose Nights” #1, originally published at Daily Science Fiction.) She did not come to her life with intention. Few do, but less so for Osiana. She had been born a bondswoman in a time and place where freedwomen were rarer...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Flash Fiction: “Genie from the Gym” by M.K. Hutchins (Originally published at Daily Science Fiction.) First Wish: I wasn’t stupid. Someone had abandoned that lamp in the gym locker room for a reason. I thought about just wishing to lose weight, but the genie might vaporize my arm or something to meet that requirement. So I wished that I could lose weight. Overnight, chocolate disappeared from the world. Anyone attempting to bake cookies would open their ovens to find cold, crisp slices of cucumber. M.K. Hutchins is the author of the YA fantasy novel Drift and numerous short stories. She often draws on her background in archaeology when writing. Find her at mkhutchins.com.   A Look Back at Genre History...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Flash Fiction: “Daddy’s Glasses” by Molly Flynn (Originally published at Every Day Fiction.) I peer into my drawer of glasses, deciding, and empty eyes stare back. Most people don’t notice the images pressed into the lenses, like the negatives of old photographs, but Daddy and I do. He keeps his glasses in the garage, but I’m not allowed in there. I select my pink ones with scratches on the lenses and Hello Kitty printed on the arms. They creak as I force them to fit and the plastic presses into my skin, but the memories are worth it. While Mummy watches TV, I watch snippets of old time imprinted in the glass. Molly Flynn is a writer from Lincolnshire, UK, and is currently studying a BA in English Literature at the University of Sheffield. She is a part-time artist, writer, and procrastinator, and is seeking representation for her first...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Flash Fiction: “An Old Warrior’s Final Countdown” by Kat Otis (Originally published at Every Day Fiction.com.) Ten spiraling stone steps led down to the dungeon. I dashed down them, the flames of the wall sconces wavering with the wind of my passage. Although I still held my sword at the ready, I found no one left to fight. When I reached the bottom, I sheathed my sword and drew my lock-picks instead. Nine brave warriors had given their lives to get me this far. One by one they had fallen to our enemies’ arrows and bolts, spears and axes, swords and daggers. If the tower had been better defended, we would never have stood a chance. But if the tower had been better defended, more obviously significant, it also wouldn’t have taken us so long to find. Eight weeks it took, for me to realize this squalid tower on the edge of the king’s...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

“Manannan’s Children” by Russell Blackford (Originally published in Dreaming Again.) Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose… — W.B. Yeats They’d chased a deer, which had bolted in terror from the forest, then run to a round grassy hill and vanished over the top. At the top of the hill, Finn and Oisin pulled back on their horses’ reins and wrapped their heavy cloaks more tightly against the bitter cold wind from the sea. Down on the shore was a lady, also on horseback, with the lapping waves and the sinking red sun behind her. Oisin’s breath caught and his heart seemed to melt like heated gold within his ribs. She was incomparable! The lady rode a majestic, shimmering stallion, as black as adamant. She called out to the heroes, father and son, and they rode down to meet her, white-bearded Finn going ahead. Oisin couldn’t take his...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Short Fiction: “Darkening Skies” by Oliver Buckram (Originally published at Daily Science Fiction on November 4, 2015.) Welcome to Dystopian Airlines. We now request your full attention as our flight attendants demonstrate the safety features of this Boeing 666 aircraft.   Should we experience a loss of cabin pressure, an oxygen mask will drop from the compartment above your seat. Place the mask over your nose and mouth, secure the elastic band, and breathe normally. The flow of oxygen will start once you swipe a valid credit card into the credit card reader. If you are traveling with a child or someone who requires assistance, swipe your credit card first, then assist them with their credit card....  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Flash Fiction: “Junk Silver” by Michael Canfield (Originally published at Daily Science Fiction.com.) Albe ignored Tic, who exclaimed “huh!” after stabbing another Wikipedia article in his usual overly-enthusiastic way. Albe then watched Tic push the article off the sharp end of his poker into the bag. Tic wiped his hand on his leg, as he did every time he cleared his poker of trash. Albe had gotten himself knee-deep in Myspace pages, which had started to seep through his garments and cling to his skin, so he didn’t care what Tic chose to vociferate about. “Junk silver,” said Tic, unswayed by Albe’s lack of response. “That one was about junk silver. Know what that...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

The cover art for this month is Icaria by Tomislav Tikulin, whose distinctive and stylish art is very reminiscent of the ’70s and ’80s and has graced the covers of many legendary SF, fantasy, and horror books, including Larry Niven’s Ringworld Engineers, Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous with Rama, Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine (50th anniversary edition), and Stephen King’s Carrie. He can be found online at tomtikulin-art.com. (Both of our stories for this week were originally published in the anthology Dead Man’s Hand: An Anthology of the Weird West.) Short Fiction: “Dead Man’s Hand” by Christie...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

First Story: “Never Idle” by David Steffen (Originally published in Specutopia, July 2012). Jeremiah listened to each car as he walked through the busy mall parking lot, looking for one who could serve as both transportation and companion.  A minivan dreamt of frequent trips with her family to the soccer fields to watch the children play.  No, her family needed her, and they treated her well.  A sports car dreamt of blurred landscape and the feel of the wind pushing her to the ground.  No, too impulsive.  He needed someone dependable.  She might leave him at any time and never come back.  An aged sedan caught his eye.  The poor thing showed more rust than paint and her oil hadn’t been changed as often as it should have been.  Her seats were littered with trash.  She dreamt of an owner who was more neglectful...  See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.