pleasingwords

[pleasingwords]

Kami

One morning, Kana awoke to find herself afflicted by an infestation of divine beings: kami.

They floated about her head, six of them, and every one babbled almost non-stop. “A vigorous technique!” one commented as Kana brushed her teeth. “I can already tell she’s a strong-willed one. A warrior!” Another, as Kana performed her ablutions: “Not much attention to detail! Is she a careless girl?” “Perhaps she’s got so many important things to do that she can’t spend the time to do this properly?” a third suggested, and they all laughed.

The kami laughed a lot.

Kana looked furtively around once she’d gone downstairs, but none of her family reacted to the kami, even as they continued happily chattering about everything around them. (“Look at how much rice porridge he’s got in his bowl! And - is he pouring a second?”) It seemed as if she was the only one who could see or hear them.

Kana finished her breakfast and began to walk to the market, thinking hard as she did. Was this a blessing from Heaven?

“So vain!” an older-sounding kami replied when Kana asked. “A girl like you, to be favored by six of Heaven’s noblest spirits? Our little one’s got a big head on her shoulders!”

They all laughed.

“You’re not here to help me, then?” Kana said. “So is this a curse?”

“The presumption!” the largest kami said. “Really. It reminds me of the comedian Izekuro. Just like in his routine with Narahishi, am I right?” (Laughter.)

Who was Izekuro, or Narahashi, or any of the other names the kami merrily invoked? The day wore on, and Kana had no better idea of what they were talking about. All the kami seemed to do was mock and complain. “So passive!” they chided as Kana quietly listened to a customer’s complaints. “So complacent!” they said as an urchin lad snatched up a cabbage from her stall and ran, too fast for her to have a hope of catching up. “Where’s the powerful warrior girl from this morning? How is this for a way to react to the indignities of the world?” They laughed.

“You could be a lot more helpful,” Kana snapped. The kami laughed again.

The next morning, Kana gritted her teeth as she brushed them. (“She’s becoming even fiercer! Is this the beginning of her transformation into her ultimate form?”) She ate quickly, shoveling food into her mouth. (“Such speed! Is she training to catch up with future produce thieves?”) And so when she left the house, she was just in time to see Akiko walking up.

“Hi!” Akiko said. She hopped off the milk-cart and deftly grabbed a glass bottle from its side. “You’re up early. Guess I can deliver this straight to you, huh? Talk about a special delivery!” She winked.

Kana gulped.

“I’m not feeling so well today,” Kana said, acutely aware of the kami watching from just above her head. “I’m very sorry -”

“Oh, no, of course, please don’t apologize!” Akiko said, bouncing toward her. She buried Kana in a deep hug. “Just do everything you can to get better - I’ll go burn some incense at the temple for you! Then we’ll chat more next time, right?”

“Right,” Kana said limply.

“Right!” Akiko said. She landed a kiss on Kana’s cheek with enthusiasm, shoved the milk-bottle into her hand, and bounced back to her milk-wagon, holstering the yoke and pulling it towards the next house.

Kana watched her as she went, her cheeks shaded a gentle pink.

“Wow!” said one of the kami. “Someone’s been hiding a little secret, huh?”

“I’ve been hiding nothing!” Kana snapped.

“Mmmm,” another kami said. “Finally it’s heating up around here! Now that’s one delicious specimen.”

“How dare you?” Kana asked.

“Seems like someone’s less concerned with the milk jug they’re holding and more interested in another pair!” a third kami said. They all laughed.

Kana’s face turned from pink to a furious red. Setting the milk bottle down on the doorstep, she set out in another direction. Her market stall could wait this morning.

The town’s temple wasn’t somewhere that Kana went as often as she should have, but thankfully it was large and central enough that Kana wouldn’t have had to embarrass herself further by asking for directions. At this time of morning, the main hall was almost empty. The head priest looked up as Kana entered. “What is it you need, my dear?” he asked.

“I need an exorcism,” Kana said. “Incense, gongs, fireworks, chanting. The full package. I’ll pay!”

The head priest nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

The whole exorcism took almost two hours, from the time Kana asked to the conclusion. There was incense, from hundreds of tiny sticks all the way up to one huge incense-stick taller than she was. There were gongs, rung in cacophonous variety. There were fireworks, sparklers, all kinds. There was chanting from the head priest and all three of his fellows, knelt in solemn prayer while the helper boys ran around doing everything else.

By the one-hour mark, though, Kana was already grimly certain that the exorcism was a failure.

The kami were absolutely delghted. “Look!” they said. “The energy those little boys have, ringing the gongs - they put their elders to shame! Mmm, smell the incense - they must have imported this quite some way! Listen to those fireworks - spectacular! It’s just like in the old drama Southern Chaos, right?”

Dolefully, Kana paid the priests their due. Wrapped in her own private shroud of misery, she trudged home. Ignoring her parents’ questions, she walked upstairs, slammed the door, and flopped into bed.

All the while, the spirits had been chattering, still on a high from the excitement of the failed exorcism. But as Kana lay on her bed, their jokes and laughter began to slow. “How boring!” the smallest one commented. “What an immature reaction!” And… it left. Just faded into the air.

Outwardly, Kana did her best to show no reaction. But inwardly, her frustration turned instantly into excitement. As simple as that!

The hours slipped by. Kana’s parents came by to check on her; she dismissed them with monosyllables. And one by one, the kami, terminally bored, simply left.

The largest kami was the last to leave. “It’s no fun without the others,” it said. “So I suppose it’s time to go. Unless you’ve changed your mind…?”

“No,” Kana said.

“Fine,” the kami said, beginning to fade away. “But just wait. You’ll love the next season!”

Kana bolted upright. She was alone in blessed silence for the first time in days, but all she could think was: what did it mean by that?

[pleasingwords]

Radiance

When I saw my mother for the first time in months, I almost didn’t recognize her. Her face was thin and lined with pain, and her clothes were ragged. There was a glow in her face, too, a bright and shining light - and that was the worst part of all.

I walked over to her and sat down, sliding my knees under the cafeteria table where she sat half-heartedly picking at her plate. “How’s it going?” I asked.

“Oh, same old, same old,” my mother said. I wasn’t ready to look her in the face. Not yet. I stared at her neck instead, where a new necklace hung. A metal shape hung from it, the same shape the news always showed when they talked about this place, the same one that stood as a fifty-foot tall statue outside.

“Not too much longer now,” she said.

I couldn’t stop myself from asking. Jerking my eyes up to meet hers, I asked: “Does it hurt? How can you bear it? Why - why do you DO this to yourself?”

“Oh, honey,” my mother said tenderly. “When the doctors gave me the diagnosis, I already knew it would hurt. But this is a different pain. What we’re doing here - it’s transforming me. I’m becoming a celestial being, a creature of pure light. This pain has a purpose.”

“But what proof do you have?” I asked. “This is a cult, mom. You’re living in a compound, for God’s sake. Look at yourself!”

She gestured at herself. The light shining through her face was red and pure, bright and beautiful and terrible all at once. It was all I could do not to look away again.

“Mom!” I said. “They’re killing you!”

She answered slowly. “Maybe they are. But at least I have hope.”

I racked my brains. What could I say? How could I persuade her? How could I rescue her from this terrible place, from these people who sold salvation through agony?

Reaching her hand across the table, my mother rested her hand on my shoulder. Heat radiated from her too-thin skin. I slumped.

“I love you, mom,” I said.

“I love you too, honey,” she said.

It was only a few weeks later when the end came. The footage was blurry, but you could see the heat blazing in the flames that consumed the compound. In the shimmering smoke, you could almost imagine shapes fluttering upwards.

Almost.

Sometimes I can almost hear my mother whispering in my ear, like she never left. “It hurts,” she says.

“But at least there’s hope.”

[pleasingwords]

Prince of the Blood, pt. 1

Antoine was halfway through re-reading von Suhl’s Principles of Mobile Warfare when he heard the telltale tread of his manservant’s boots approaching. And behind them - the Duchess? His mother?

Antoine panicked. He always came to the library when he wanted privacy - no one ever came there. What was going on? Dropping his book, Antoine turned, scanning the small room of dusty old books for somewhere to hide - there! Behind the cabinet, a crack..!

His mother was already talking as she entered the room. “The time has come, Bertram,” she said. “We simply cannot delay any longer.”

Antoine’s manservant entered behind his mother, closing the door behind him. As Antoine peeked from behind the cabinet, he saw his manservant’s eye catch on the book Antoine had left on the table. “That’s odd,” Bertram said. “I didn’t think anyone had used this room since the old Prince passed away.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” the Duchess replied, waving her hand imperiously. “The facts are simple. The boy is a Prince of the Blood -”

“He’s twelfth in the line of succession,” Bertram interrupted. “The King has six other grandsons besides. The boy’s more likely to reach the moon than the throne!”

“Irrelevant,” the Duchess said. “He is a Prince of the Blood, and must live up to the dignity of that rank with which God has blessed him. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you pamper him - letting him skip his horsemanship lessons to go read? That ends now.”

It took every bit of discipline Antoine had not to gasp.

“He’s still just a boy, your Grace,” Bertram pleaded. “He’s too young even to grow a beard, and you’d send him off to war?”

“The old Prince was younger when he led his first command,” the Duchess said. “This is not a debate, Bertram. This is an order. Or have you forgotten who reigns here?”

Bertram sighed. “I’ll prepare an entourage,” he began.

“No,” the Duchess said. “This is a war, not a picnic. There will be no entourage of cooks and washerwomen for my only son.”

“One servant, at least,” Bertram pleaded. “It’s the least that his rank deserves.”

“You?” the Duchess asked.

It was hard for Antoine to tell from his vantage point, but he thought that Bertram looked faintly offended. “Of course,” he said.

“Very well,” the Duchess said, rising in a flurry of ruffles and silk. “You will inform the boy as soon as the preparations are ready. I expect you to leave in two days.”

The door shut behind her. Bertram looked old and tired, more tired than Antoine had ever seen him before, even after cleaning up after the worst of Antoine’s misadventures. Wearily, the manservant picked up Antoine’s book and began leafing through it. “May I consider the boy informed?” he asked without looking up.

Antoine slunk out from behind the cabinet, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “Am I really pampered?” he asked.

“Maybe so,” Bertram said, closing the book. “You are a Prince. But that was never a choice you were asked to make.”

Antoine wasn’t sure he understood. He asked another question. “What command am I to be given?”

“General Helene de Toulaise is at this moment leading a small, veteran force of infantry,” Bertram said. “She will remain in an advisory role, but as you are of superior blood to her, you will be in command.”

Antoine gulped.

That night, Antoine sat at the head of the dinner table. The Duchess, sitting at his side, looked increasingly impatient as she picked at the hors d'oeuvres the servants brought her. Despite the urging of Betram, standing behind Antoine, the boy could not bring himself to eat.

The door opened. A tall woman strode through, her armour black and battle-scarred, trailed by a distressed servant.

“Where have you been, General Toulaise?” the Duchess asked, incensed. “That is no kind of costume for a dinner.”

“I have been with my scouts for the last half-hour,” the General replied. Her voice was hoarse, weather-beaten. “The Red Count is on the march. If we do not move now, the city of Correze will burn.”

”There will be no dinner.”

General de Toulaise knelt, her eyes never leaving Antoine’s. “Commander. Your orders?”

Antoine froze. Seconds stretched into eternities.

A lone thought entered his mind: What would Father have done?

“We march.” The words expelled themselves almost involuntarily from his mouth; and, in truth, they were more of a squeak than a confident order. But they were the words that were needed.

Antoine followed the General out of the dining room, Bertram’s footsteps following after. His mother said nothing. And Antoine had not the courage to look back.

[pleasingwords]

Heavenly War - Episode 2

The farm was small, the road leading to it barely distinguishable from the surrounding rocky hillsides. It seemed like a place unaccustomed to visitors. But today a caravan had come to visit, selling a very specific good.

“I’m not sure I need more labor right now,” the farmer told the slavers, pacing before their lineup. “The harvest’s been poor, and money’s tight.”

“Oh, isn’t that always the way,” a sympathetic voice offered from the row of assembled slaves.

“How about this one, farmer Jun?” the slaver said, pausing next to the voice’s source, an almost cadaverously thin man. His neighbor was half his height, and considerably stouter than the average slave. “He’s the perfect size for crop harvests,” the slaver suggested, “and as a special offer, I’ll toss in his friend for free!”

“My name is Wang,” the thin man said patiently. “And my friend’s name is Zhang, Big Zhang. It’s really not hard to remember.”

“Free?” Farmer Jun asked. His wife stood by the farm’s huts, watching along with a teenage boy.

The slaver grimaced. “You know what, I’ll pay you. Ten dan off the short one’s price if you take the skinny one too.”

“Unappreciated,” Wang said. “Typical.”

“Done,” Jun said, shaking the slaver’s hand. The slaver’s men unhooked his purchases from their chains. “Come along, now. No time for rubbernecking, Lo Po, Jat Ji. There’s much to do.”

The teenage boy, watching, found Big Zhang gazing at him with equal intensity. He turned away, shaken.

“You know the routine, nephew,” Farmer Jun told the boy a few weeks later. “Take the crops directly to town, take the money directly back. No distractions, no side trips, absolutely no adventures. And don’t be afraid to use the whip to keep the slaves in line.”

“I’m sure they won’t cause any trouble, Uncle,” the teenager told him. “Aside from the complaining.”

“I’m not worried about them,” Jun said. “I’m worried about you!”

The boy rolled his eyes and set out to fetch the ox-cart.

The road to town was long. Normally the boy took used the time to fantasize, imagining far-away adventures and romance. Today he found it difficult to concentrate.

“You really must listen to me, young Tianxing,” Wang said once again, riding on the back of the cart. “We’ve been sent on an important mission. The whole of the kingdom depends on us!”

The boy Tianxing sighed. “Look, Wang,” he said. “You heard my uncle. No side trips, no adventures. I owe Uncle Jun and Auntie Jao a great debt for taking me in and raising me as their own child. I don’t want to disappoint them again!”

Wang drew a breath to continue arguing, then paused. “What’s that?” he asked.

A low horn blast echoed in the distance.

Tianxing’s eyes widened. “Tribesmen, off the northern steppes,” he said. “Their raiding parties use those horns to signal that they’ve found a target. And - “ he paused to listen. “It sounds like they’re coming closer.”

Big Zhang whistled mournfully.

“Are you a great warrior in disguise as a peasant boy?” Brave Wang asked. “Can you defeat an steppe army singlehandedly?”

“I have a bow,” Tianxing said. “I use it to hunt rabbits. One time I shot one from a hundred bu away!”

“We’re doomed,” Wang sighed.

Figures on horseback appeared, cresting the hills to the northwest. One raised a horn to his lips and blew, letting out another long, low blast.

“It’s all right,” Tianxing said. “They might only want our goods, not our lives -”

Big Zhang covered Tianxing’s lips. He pointed to the east.

A curious figure stood there. He wore an elaborate costume, with the legs of a horse and a headpiece shaped like the sun. In his hand was a horn, long and twisted; as Tianxing and the others watched, he brought the horn to the front of his headpiece and blew a long, complex sound.

“Who is that?” Brave Wang whispered. “Is that one of their leaders?”

“I don’t know,” Tianxing whispered back. “His costume - I think that’s a religious outfit of some kind, the face of their sky god. He could be a shaman. But - look!”

The horsemen on the ridge had paused while the shaman played his horn. Now, wheeling their horses, they were leaving, riding back to the north.

Big Zhang tilted his head inquisitively.

“I don’t know what it means,” Tianxing said. “But the shaman is waving. I think he wants - us.”

---

Tianxing and the others found themselves at the entrance of a small, musty cave. Wang tied the ox-cart up outside while Tianxing and Zhang proceeded inward.

“This is a home,” Tianxing said, his voice hushed. “Furniture - not much, and no decorations, but well used. Someone’s been living here for a long time.”

“Yes,” a reply emerged from the shadows. The shaman walked forward, now wearing only a plain brown robe. “Ever since the old wars, against Western Wei. Ever since I brought you here to be fostered with your uncle Jun and aunt Jao. I’ve been watching over you for a long time, young Tianxing.”

Tianxing blanched white. At a loss for words, he didn’t notice at first when Big Zhang walked past him.

“Are you General Gaohuan?” Zhang asked.

Now it was the brown-robed man’s turn to pause. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” he said.

Zhang knelt. “I carry a message from the Phoenix Princess Chufung,” he said. “The usurper Wenxuan is bent on exterminating all resistance against him. Even now, his right-hand man General Erzhu is taking the Princess to Red Stone Fort, where she will be tortured until she gives him the location of the rebel base.”

“Please, General Gaohuan. You must help us. You are our only hope.”

Tianxing turned to Zhang, his eyes growing even wider.

“You *speak*?”

[pleasingwords]

Heavenly War - Episode 1

A long, long time ago, in a realm far, far away, the usurper Wenxuan consolidated his reign.

Through wit and cunning, he had risen from obscure origins to the old emperor Xiaowu’s right hand. When Xiaowu died in mysterious circumstances, the empire fell into Wenxuan’s hands. Xiaowu had raised many children in his court, but before long, only the Phoenix Princess Chufung remained alive.

“The usurper’s galleys are catching up!” Chufung’s captain warned her. “Our oarmen are tiring swiftly, and though your retainers are brave, they can’t outfight a dozen ships’ worth of warriors.”

Princess Chufung nodded. “I should have known they’d never let us reach the rebel base. If I made it there, I could provide legitimacy to their rebellion, restore the old dynasty… of course the usurper sends his fiercest men against us.”

“What should we do?” the captain asked. “Is there anything to be done?”

Chufung thought quickly. “Yes,” she said. “But I’ll need time, and a distraction.”

Already the usurper’s closest galleys were within arrow-shot. Flaming arcs curved across the sky, and smoke began to rise from the stern of the princess’s ship. Her men returned fire as best they could, but they were few, and the enemy were many.

Belowdecks, the princess hurried to her quarters. “Big Zhang!” she shouted. “Brave Wang!”

“Yes, your Highness?” Two men - one short and chubby, one thin and lanky - emerged from the doorway. The tall one spoke, his voice quavering. “Is - is there a battle? We heard noises…”

“There is, Wang,” Princess Chufung confirmed sadly.

“Well then,” Brave Wang said. “It seems we’re quite doomed.”

“Don’t worry,” the Princess said. “I won’t ask you, my dearest servants, to fight. I have only one favor to ask of you…”

When the usurper’s flagship struck the princess’s galley, flames had already engulfed half the deck. Men poured onto the ship nonetheless, led by a warrior clad in pure black armor. Ignoring all threats, he strode directly forward, dispatching men with careless strokes of his blade.

“Where is the princess?” he asked.

“I am here,” Princess Chufung said, emerging onto the deck. “Your search is at an end, General Erzhu. The last remnant of the old dynasty is in your hands.”

“And the rebellion?” General Erzhu replied. His voice was deep and cold. “I know you were going to join them. Where is the rebel base?”

Princess Chufung raised her chin proudly. “That you will never know,” she said.

General Erzhu’s reaction was unreadable within his armor. “You will come with me to the Red Stone Fort,” he said. “And we will see just how long your resolve lasts.”

On the river’s shore, hidden in a tangle of undergrowth, a wooden barrel rocked furiously back and forth. At last, with a crash, one side broke open, and two men spilled out, tumbling one over the other.

“Ugh!” Brave Wang said, spitting out river-water. “They might not have spotted us, but they’ll surely realize we’re missing soon. We must get going. Which way?”

Big Zhang pointed.

“North?” Brave Wang asked. “But the only thing there is the desert!”

Big Zhang nodded, and began walking.

Brave Wang moaned. Then, resigned, he followed.

The greenery gave way to scrub; the scrub to rock; the rock to sand. The sun rose and set, rose and set. And the sand continued far, far into the horizon.

“This is an awful place!” Brave Wang told Big Zhang. “I’ve already told you so many of the things that could go wrong, being in the desert. We could run out of water and die. Or be stung by scorpions and die. Or be bitten by snakes and die.”

“Or be captured by slavers.”

“Exactly!” Brave Wang said.

Big Zhang looked up, surprised. His eyes widened.

“Oh, this is exactly what I knew was going to happen,” Brave Wang groaned.

[pleasingwords]

Snippet: The Trade-Lizards

The legs of the commercia lacerti, the trade-lizards, seemed to stretch forever into the sky. Each was wide around as an ox-cart, its grey, mottled flesh turned brown from the road’s dust. Every step sent more dust skyward, merging into the cloud raised by the rest of the caravan. Marching one after another, the line of trade-lizards stretched from one horizon to the other.

Most, on seeing the lacerti come to town, focused their attention on the raucous market held atop them. The foolhardy or skint climbed ladders hanging from the lizards’ sides. Most gave up a small token of food or treasure and rode pterosaurs instead, soaring into the sky and between one lizard and the next. Once arrived, visitors found each lizard covered in gaily decorated, playfully colored tents. The merchants within sold an endless stream of toys and trinkets to the markets’ ordinary attendees.

But the wise… the wise knew that the real treasures were to be found beneath the lacerti, where the thunder of their footsteps almost drowned out the clamour of the markets above. In the shadows...

[pleasingwords]

The Howlybeast

The Howlybeast had tormented the village for three moons.

“Gods above,” Helena groaned quietly, rolling in her bed. The wails, the cries, the ceaseless tormented yowls. Would it never end?

With a trace of jealousy, Helena looked at her husband, softly snoring on the other side of the bed. “Just try to sleep through the howling”, he’d told her that evening. “He’ll stop eventually, if you just ignore him.”

The howling continued. Helena sighed.

Quietly, Helena slipped on a shift and unlatched the door. She stood there for a moment, trembling in the cold night air. Then she walked outside.

In the tall grass outside, the Howlybeast waited.

Its eyes glittered and its tail lashed. Its fur was as thick as a lion’s mane, and its claws as long as a woman’s arm. And oh, the noise, the vast hullabaloo coming from its huge toothy maw!

“What’s WRONG with you?” Helena asked, too tired to feel the fear she knew she should. “Why, oh, why, do you make this awful noise?”

“I’m loooonely!”, the creature howled. “I’m sooo alone…..”

“Lonely?” Helena asked, astonished.

“Yes!” the Howlybeast howled. “No one ever hangs out with me. Why don’t I have any friends?”

Helena looked the beast up and down. A long line of slavering drool slipped from its mouth.

“Fine,” Helena said. And she stayed and played with the Howlybeast all night long, until it finally succumbed to slumber, and Helena snuck back to bed.

“That’s done with,” she thought, as she fell into blessed slumber.

The howling began again the next night.

“What NOW?” Helena asked, storming out to confront the Howlybeast.

“I’m lonely!” the beast cried. “I haven’t seen you allll day!”

Helena sighed.

A week passed. Each night, the Howlybeast’s clamour awakened Helena from her slumber, and each night, she went out to console it. Each night, she grew more and more tired. And then one night, she awoke to find she’d slept through the entire night.

“Was that enough?” Helena wondered. “Is the beast finally satisfied? Did he leave?”

“Bluh,” her husband said, rolling over.

Groggily, Helena wandered into her kitchen. Then she paused, surprised. There was a box on the table.

Inside was a cake, and a note. “Thank you so much for working so hard to mollify the Howlybeast,” it read. “But you’re not alone. From now on, we’ll do this together!”

“Signed: your loving husband, and the rest of the village.”

MORAL: Never assume that kindness will reciprocated with gratitude; but those in your life who truly care will show it.

MORAL 2: meoooooow

[pleasingwords]

Hearts’ Kiln

Alanna watched as the girl - she couldn’t have been older than twelve - approached the great kiln, lit by the flickering flames within. As she walked, the girl cradled a delicate crystal heart in her hands, holding it lovingly.

The girl stopped as she reached the kiln. Alanna smiled at her sympathetically, trying to exude encouragement. It’d been twenty years or more, but Alanna remembered being as young as this girl. Would she have been as brave then?

“Rebekah was my best friend,” the girl said. “She moved out of the City last year, before… before the darkness fell. I don’t think I’m going to ever see her again.”

“I miss her a lot.”

The girl hesitated for another moment, and then with a sudden jerk, hurled her precious heart into the kiln. The heart disintegrated instantly, and the flames roared upward; but by then the girl was already turning to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Alanna said. “About Rebekah.”

The girl turned back toward Alanna. Her eyes were blank. “Rebekah?” she asked. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, my mistake,” Alanna said, cursing inwardly. “I think my memory must be going. These times are taking such a toll on all of us...”

Alanna had guarded the kiln since she was hardly older than that poor girl. It had been simpler before the darkness came; for then the ancient kiln was put to a new purpose. So long as flames guttered within its vast stone belly, the darkness was kept at bay, unable to enter the city’s bounds. But there was a price.

Hours ticked past. The kiln’s flames guttered low. Alanna watched them dance, fidgeting with the locket at her neck; then she jerked in surprise as the door’s bell rang to announce another visitor.

He was middle-aged, by the look of him, and held his heart in his hand. His left hand, that is; his right was a stump.

Alanna watched him approach in near-silence, as the flames quietly burned down.

“I was a violinist,” the man said, pain in his voice. “It was my passion and my joy. But that does me no good, now.”

Alanna gave the man one sharp, affirmative nod, and his heart entered the flames.

A sacrifice. Every magic requires sacrifice: the greater the magic, the more terrible the sacrifice. The Hearts’ Kiln protected the City’s inhabitants from the darkness; in exchange, it demanded their dearest memories. Their very hearts, hurled into the flames, forever lost.

When first the darkness came, many came willingly to feed the flames, to preserve the city and those within. But only so many were ready to bear that loss.

So much time had passed. The kiln’s flames were mere embers now. Alanna watched the door, waiting for another visitor; but the sun had set, and no one else was there to be seen. Darkness lurked outside.

Alanna sighed. Opening the locket around her neck, she pulled a tiny crystal heart from within.

“You were my first and only,” she whispered. “Two years you lived, two years and three days. I swore I would love you forever, my little one.”

Alanna held the heart above the kiln’s embers, willing the moment to last forever; time suspended in amber.

Perhaps forgetfulness was not a sacrifice but a gift.

[pleasingwords]

Rampam the Panda

Rampam the panda lived in a big glass cage in the big zoo in the very middle of the Big City. All day, she rolled around on the grass and splashed around in the pond and watched all the people going past her cage. She was a very happy panda!

There was only one thing that made Rampam sad. She had lots of interesting people to see, and lots of interesting noises to hear, but every day, she had only one food to eat. Bamboo! Boring, crunchy, green bamboo - every morning and every night! Rampam had been eating bamboo her whole life, and she was thoroughly sick of it.

The highlight of her day came when Rampam’s caretaker, Micaela, visited her. Micaela would play with Rampam and cuddle her and sing her songs, and Rampam liked all of that. But her very favorite thing was when Micaela would give her treats. From her big blue overalls, she’d pluck out roasted broccoli, or roasted asparagus, or roasted cauliflower, and Rampam would gobble it straight down. So much better than dumb old bamboo!

One day, Micaela was extra tired when she visited Rampam’s cage. “I’m sorry, little one,” she said after they played together. “I just need to take a teeny-tiny extra-light nap.” So she walked over to the back of Rampam’s cage and flopped down behind a big rock and started snoring, right then and there!

Micaela hadn’t given Rampam any treats that day, so she felt justified in snuffling all over Micaela’s overalls and shaking her down for everything she had. She ate a toasted rice cracker and a pawful of roasted kale, and then she paused.

‘Ooh’, Rampam thought. ‘Shiny. Silver. Metal. This is the thing Micaela roasts her treats with! I can smell it!’

She nudged it with her foot. A little flame shot out. ‘Oooooooh’, Rampam thought.

Waddling, Rampam pushed the lighter all the way over to the bamboo grove in the corner of her cage, right in front of the hidden employee-only door. She flicked the lighter again. A piece of bamboo turned a warm brown.

‘Mmmmm,’ Rampam thought, taking a big bite. ‘It’s so crispy!’

Rampam held the lighter down with one big foot, gobbling down bamboo shoot after shoot with her paws. ‘I love them all so much!’ she thought. ‘This is so much better than raw bamboo. It makes me feel all warm inside, in my tummy and on my bummy!’

She paused. Why would her butt feel warm?

Then she panicked and rolled backwards. Her tail! Her little pom-pom tail was on fire!

Rampam rolled end over end, over and over, all the way into her pond. When she came to a halt, her tail was no longer on fire. But the bamboo grove was. The bamboo grove was… extremely on fire.

‘What do I do?’ Rampam thought. ‘I can’t put out a fire. I need help!’

She waddled over to Micaela, napping behind the rock next to the pond, and shook her as hard as she could. But Micaela just snored harder. ‘She must be REALLY tired,’ Rampam thought.

‘But what do I do now?’

The fire kept on spreading, until it was in front of the windows. If Rampam waited much longer, there wouldn’t be anything left to do. She knew she had to act! So she got down onto her side, and she started to roll.

She didn’t really know why it worked. Maybe it was because she was so scared. Maybe it was because the heat of the fire weakened the glass. Or maybe it was because she wanted so much to help and protect her friend Micaela. But that day, when Rampam rolled into the glass around her cage, moving as fast as she’d ever rolled - the glass broke with a big crash, and Rampam rolled right through!

‘Wow!’ thought Rampam. ‘I made it! ...what now?’

“Rampam!” a voice called from inside the cage.

It was Micaela! The shattering glass had woken her up, and now she was talking to Rampam from inside her cage, separated by a growing wall of flame.

‘What do I do?’ Rampam thought. ‘I’m just a panda!’

“Rampam!” Micaela cried again. “You’ve got to get help! Do you see the fire alarm, on the wall behind you?”

Rampam turned around. There was a big red switch on the wall. ‘Is this it?’ she wondered.

“That’s it!” Micaela said. “Yank on the fire alarm and help will come!”

Rampam swatted at the switch with her right paw.

She swatted at it with her left paw.

Her paws were just too big and too clumsy to do anything!

Rampam turned back to Micaela, her big eyes plaintive. ‘I don’t know what to do!’ she thought. ‘I’m just a panda.’

Micaela was standing in the pond now, her face growing sooty with smoke. “Rampam!” she shouted, coughing. “Rampam! Use your head!”

Rampam nodded fiercely. She turned back to the big red switch, reached out, bit down with her teeth, and pulled.

Down the switch came; and out came the klaxon, and the running people, and the water-hoses, and out the fire went. And when it was all over, Rampam was back in her cage, sitting on the grass and looking at the water-logged bamboo.

‘Maybe it’s not so bad after all’, she thought. ‘Maybe, now that I’ve caused all this mess, I can appreciate what I have for what it is.’

Rampam broke off a shoot of bamboo and chewed it thoughtfully. Then she spat it out.

‘Ugh! Now it’s SOGGY!’

[pleasingwords]

The Underworld

In the twelth year of the reign of King Ramesh, Pritya’s husband Ro fell ill with a terrible fever. Pritya stayed by Ro’s side for days at a time, patiently caring for him; but none of the village wise-woman’s remedies aided him, and after two moons, Ro passed away.

Pritya’s parents had often been disappointed in her, but on this occasion they put the past aside. Together with Ro’s family, they performed the ritual mourning, dressed Ro in the traditional clothes and clasped his hands tightly around a pair of coins. Then they left Pritya to mourn him alone.

But she did not stay. Instead, come nightfall, Pritya gathered supplies - a torch, a machete, a handful of change - and set out into the jungle beyond the village.

The trail was dark and overgrown. Even with the dim light of her torch, Pritya would have been hard-set to recognize the way, had she not followed this same path so many times in her youth. All the children had been warned many times against leaving the village, trekking to the abandoned temple, clambering over the skull-covered facade and playing hide-and-seek behind the dark-stained altar. So of course Pritya had delighted in leading the other children to do just that.

Even she, the boldest among them, had never dared to tamper with the huge, round stone door at the rear of the temple’s innermost sanctum. Writing covered it in a dense spiral; Pritya had always imagined that, as the door rolled open, those spinning words would reveal sacred mysteries. But countless years of rain had rendered all the door’s text illegible, and vines now covered its tracks.

Pritya took a deep breath. Then she stepped forward and wedged the blade of her machete behind the door. She shoved with all her might, willing the door to roll open. For a moment it did, rocking forward -

- and then back again, snapping her machete in half.

Pritya stood looking at her broken machete. Then she shouted, furious, “My husband is dead, and you fickle gods would stop me with THIS indignity?” Reversing the machete, she shoved the handle into the crack instead, pulled with a reckless strength - and rolled the door open. Dark steps led into unknown darkness beyond. Pritya did not hesitate before taking them.

It was impossible to tell the passage of time in the darkness. Strange noises rose all around Pritya; the swish of cloth against cloth, leather against stone, somewhere in the indefinite distance. Pritya stared straight ahead, focusing on her anger. Then she bumped into someone.

“Ah!” she said. “Very sorry, sir? - “

There was no response. The dark shape continued to shuffle forward, clenching its fists, ignoring Pritya as she brought her torch close enough to it to reveal the ritual clothing in which it was dressed.

“Honorable dead,” Pritya said, giving a quick bow. “Best wishes in your journey!” Then she hurried forward.

As Pritya descended, a dim red light began to suffuse her surroundings. All around Pritya, she could see more stairways criss-crossing the rough rock of her surroundings, merging and growing like tributaries flowing into a great river. Down all of those stairs came the dead, clothed in their ritual finery, shambling forward in crowds of ever greater density as they approached the bottom. And, there at the bottom...

“Ro!” Pritya cried out, dropping her torch and breaking into a run. He stumbled forward like all the others, staring blindly ahead - but she would know him anywhere. “Pardon me, excuse me,” Pritya said as she shoved her way through the legions of the dead. She had to reach him before-

A vast mass of glittering scales crashed down before her, sending Pritya to a skidding halt. She followed the thing - a tail? - with her gaze, following it upward to its source. Her eyes opened wide.

“Hello, little one,” a smooth voice purred from above. “What brings you here?”

“Honorable Guardian of the Underworld!”, Pritya said, bowing repeatedly. “My husband, Ro, passed away this day. I have come here to bring him back.”

“Why?” the Guardian asked, lazily tilting its head. Light glinted from the crown of jewels on its forehead.

Pritya stopped. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

The Guardian smiled, a wide, toothy grin. “You’ll need a better answer than that,” it said.

Pritya opened her mouth to argue. Then, seeing the Guardian’s tail slither off the path, she paused.

“Eventually,” the Guardian finished. “But it’s no feathers off my wings either way. And besides, I like you.” It yawned. “Go on, now.”

Pritya ran.

Beyond the Guardian, a vast avenue stretched, paved in glittering gold. (Cursed, Pritya knew.) To each side stretched the city of the forlorn dead, home to those who had entered the underworld without the means to pay for passage onward. Cramped and dismal, filled with crowds blindly shuffling past one another… Pritya found it unbearably depressing. She’d felt the same on the one occasion she’d visited a city of the living. Imagine going from one to the other?

Pritya was moving faster than Ro, but the honored dead blocked her movements at every turn, and the Guardian had cost her precious time. By the time she reached the city’s far edge, Ro had already boarded a ferry, rowing its way across the blood-red river Vaitarna.

The banks of Vaitarna were lined with the dead, slowly shuffling toward the waiting ferries. Pritya by now had no hesitation in pushing her way to the front of the nearest queue, slamming a handful of coins into the gloved hand of the waiting ferryman. “Will this do?” she asked.

The ferryman looked at her quizzically, forked tongue slipping in and out of its thin mouth. “Ssure thing,” it said. “Welcome aboard, little lady.”

Pritya stared past him, onto the river. “I’ll double it if you leave immediately,” she said. “No more passengers.”

The ferryman thought about it for a long moment, while Pritya’s teeth clenched involuntarily. Then it turned and slithered onboard the ferry, beckoning Pritya to follow him. “No extra payment needed,” he said. “I’m more interested in the… sstory.”

Only a handful of dead stood on the ferry’s deck; Pritya could see in all directions, from the dwindling city behind them to the strange flying creatures that circled above the red river. After a glance, she ignored all of it, focusing her gaze on the ferry bearing Ro so tantalizingly close to her.

The ferryman made an inquisitive noise, and Pritya started. “I am here for my husband,” she began. “He was a mighty warrior in life, and a fine friend to all who knew him. No man less deserved death.”

“Children?” the ferryman inquired.

Pritya flushed. “Not yet. We had hoped, perhaps, someday…”

“Pity,” the ferryman said. “But in a way, it’s for the besst. You’re still young, no entanglements… you can move on. Why defy the laws of the gods for this one man?”

Pritya had taken time to think after her last encounter. “Duty,” she said. “I am an honorable wife, and a good wife will do anything for her husband. Right?”

The ferryman hissed. “Maybe it’d be better if I jusst turned around now,” it said. “You don’t even sound like you believe that yourself. And you’ll need a better answer than that very ssoon.”

“No!” Pritya said. “I’ve made it this far. I’m not the type to give up!”

“Maybe not,” the ferryman said. “Well - good luck to you, that’s all I can say!”

As the ferry slid into the dock, Pritya leapt off, not even waiting for the ferryman to secure it to its post. Before her stretched yet more stairs, this time leading upward, into a grand palace. Ro shuffled into its skull-bedecked interior as Pritya watched.

“No!” Pritya cried, knocking a pair of wizened figures to the ground as she rushed forward. “I’m so close!”

Beyond the palace entryway lay a great courtyard, a fountain in its center bubbling black fumes. Their vapors were said to grant priceless insights; Pritya rushed past them. Beyond lay a grand corridor, bedecked with paintings of terrible antiquity. And beyond that was the throne room, the heart of the Underworld: the court of the Queen of the Dead.

A hundred feet high she stood, her skin black and smooth as obsidian, a necklace of severed lingams around her chest. With a hundred heads she pronounced judgement, and with two hundred arms she reached out, liberating the dead from the cruelty of existence. As Ro shuffled into place in front of her, the Queen smiled down upon him. Gently, she reached down with one hand and tore the beating heart from his chest. Bringing it high, the Queen grasped the heart with a second hand, and readied herself to tear it apart.

“No!” Pritya shouted.

The Queen’s two hundred arms paused their ceaseless motion. One hundred heads peered Pritya’s way.

“Why, hello, honey,” the Queen said. “What’s your name?”

Pritya bit her tongue. Transfixed by the divine gaze, she forced herself to speak. “P-Pritya, your Divine Majesty,” she said. She went to her knees. Staring at the floor, she said, “That man is my husband. Please - spare him!”

“Which one, honey?” the Queen asked. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Pritya looked up. Nervously, she pointed.

The Queen nodded. She tore ninety-nine hearts apart and devoured them, blood dripping down ninety-nine jaws. The hands before Pritya stood motionless, holding Ro’s heart in their grasp.

“Pritya, honey, I really appreciate you coming all this way,” the Queen said. “I don’t get visitors very often, you know. But there are rules. I am the Queen of the Dead, and I cannot return them to the agony of life without a very good reason. I assume you came with one?”

Pritya watched the Queen rip another ninety-nine hearts from their chests. She gulped. “I don’t know. I’d hoped just getting here would be good enough…” she admitted.

“Honey, honey,” the Queen said. She shook all hundred heads. Blood spattered across the crowd.

“Duty,” Pritya said. “I am a dutiful wife, just as everyone has always taught me I should be. I did everything I was ever asked to do, and more. I subsumed my wishes to my husband’s; I sacrificed for his happiness; and now I have travelled to the depths of the Underworld for him. If there is any justice in this world, you will let him go!”

“Oh, honey,” the Queen sighed. “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard, and I’m the Queen of the Dead.”

“Look - it sounds like you’re better off without this guy. I’ll give you some divine gifts, and you can start a new life, just for you,” the Queen said. “Or, if you really were serious about that stuff... “ She frowned. “Isn’t there some kind of ‘suttee’ pyre you’re supposed to be jumping in around now?”

Pritya gasped, furious. “I loved him, you awful woman!” she cried. “None of my life was of my choosing, and by all rights I should have hated Ro for it. But Ro’s life was set by those around him, too, and he treated me as a fellow warrior, a secret conspirator against the world that took us for granted. He was kind and giving, gentle and funny. He was my moon and my stars, and if a heart beats within your chest, you will let him go!”

The Queen sighed.

“Honey,” she said. “If love were enough to spare men from death, not a single heart would ever pass these hands.” And her grip tensed.

“Wait!” Pritya said.

“What now?” the Queen asked.

“Just… hold on,” Pritya said. “I need one more minute to think.”

“Sure,” the Queen said, her voice kind. “Take your time.”

Pritya thought.

“What was the last time someone worshipped you?” she asked. “I mean, voluntarily, full-time? Not just, oh, Queen of Death, please spare so-and-so this horrid fate?”

“That’s a bit of a sensitive subject,” the Queen said, wrinkling her nose. “Do we really have to go there?”

“Please,” Pritya said.

The Queen thought back. “Oh… two hundred, three hundred years?” she said. “Not sure exactly. Time just flies by when you’re not paying attention…”

“I have a proposal for you,” Pritya said, her thoughts crystallizing. “I will worship you. Full time, voluntarily, your High Priestess in the mortal world. I will restore your temples, gather acolytes to follow you, sacrifice to your glory at every holiday. And in exchange, you will release Ro to me.”

“Let me get this straight,” the Queen said. “I let your guy go, and in exchange… you get a promotion?”

“Take it or leave it,” Pritya said, haughtily turning her back on the Queen. “If you don’t like it… well, I believe I have a ‘suttee’ pyre to set, don’t I?”

Her hands, clasped carefully in front of her, trembled.

From behind her, Pritya heard the Queen laugh.

“Well, ain’t you a ballsy one,” the Queen said. “What the hell. You’ve got a deal, honey.”

Pritya supported Ro for the entire journey out of the Underworld, resting his arm on her shoulder. He seemed purposeless and lost for most of the trip, his chest still visibly raw and red through the tear in his robes. As they ascended the stairs back toward the surface, though, his stance began to straighten, and color returned to his cheeks. He began to mumble groggily, “slurghff… ugh… feel like the walking dead..”

“There’s a reason for that, dear,” Pritya said comfortingly.

“Oh!” Ro said, his head snapping upright. He said very little for the rest of the climb up.

“I’ll want your help for this one,” Pritya said as they reached the surface, stepping carefully over the broken machete left in the entrance. “This door is heavy enough that I could put out my back rolling it shut…”

“Hold on,” Ro said. “My love, my feisty fawn, what you said down there was unbelievable. What you did for me, even more. I am the most blessed of men to know you.”

“But the sacrifice you’re making is more than any woman should be forced to make. To be the priestess of the forbidden Queen of Death? Dedicating the rest of your life to her dark worship? My love, I would give up my life again before I saw you forced into such a grim, joyless existence.” And with that Ro made a move to turn back toward the darkness.

Pritya caught his arm with her hand, turning her back toward him. She was grinning. “My love, my darling doe, you’ve gotten it all wrong. Becoming the priestess of Death isn’t a punishment. This is what I was born for!”

“Oh,” Ro said.

“Now, come on,” Pritya said, putting her shoulder to the door. “Once we get back, we’ll need to figure out how best to reveal your rebirth - the first miracle of the Queen of Death needs to be splashy, obviously. Of course we’ll also need to get some paraphernalia… sacrificial knives, a properly terrifying skull mask, ooh, and perhaps some severed lingams…”

As Ro traipsed back to the village, following in Pritya’s footsteps, he could swear he could hear a deep, rumbling laughter coming from somewhere far below.

[pleasingwords]

The Bronze Tablet

“Damn,” Nur said, hunched over her workbench in the corner of the City Police’s evidence warehouse.

“What’s wrong, sis?” Layla asked, idly bouncing a small amulet in her hand. “Still trying to clean off that tablet?”

“As if I’ve been working on anything else today,” Nur replied. “Most of the illegal artifacts that got impounded with this caravan was common shit, drachma a dozen,” she said, gesturing meaningfully at Layla’s amulet. “But this thing’s unique. The writing on it… it’s hard to make out with all the tarnish covering the bronze, but it must be a thousand years old, easy. Incredible to see something that’s survived so long intact.”

“Doesn’t look that interesting to me,” Layla said, leaning over and peering through the fizzing brew in the jar currently holding Nur’s tablet. “Let me see, I think this bit translates to… <made to be [built] a great loom>… didn’t know you were that into industrial weaving, sis!”

“No, no,” Nur said, pushing her sister aside. Pulling the tablet out with a pair of tongs, she pointed at the offending section with her other hand: “The tarnish is covering up part of it. That’s <doom>, not <loom>. <Built a great doom>.”

“This is important, sis. Every instinct I’ve earned from five years in the City Investigative Corps is going off right now!”

“But nothing I try will get rid of that damned patina,” Nur said, slumping. “Powdered silver, moth powder, essence of wolfsbane… not a single one of the old spells works!”

“Soap?” Layla asked innocently.

“What do you think I tried first?” Nur asked, grimacing at her sister.

“Sis,” Layla said, putting a hand on her little sister’s shoulder. “It’s well past nightfall. Put that thing down, leave it in the jar. Maybe you just need to give it a little longer? One way or another, it’ll still be here when we get back in tomorrow morning.”

It wasn’t.

“Damn,” Nur cursed, rushing over to the empty jar. She stared at it accusingly, as if it could be guilted into making its former contents reappear.

“Hey, look on the bright side: judging from all those flakes, looks like leaving it overnight really did get rid of that patina,” Layla said. “You think someone from HQ came to take it back?”

“They know this is our territory,” Nur said, pacing the length of the warehouse. “And…” She paused at the door. “The police have a key.” Nur ran her fingers over the lock and raised them up for Layla to see.

“Is that…?” Layla asked.

“Lockbreaker’s powder,” Nur said grimly. “Extremely illegal. Finding out how our thief got this would be worth an investigation in itself. But I have a feeling it’s not going to be easy. This was no ordinary thief.”

Layla nodded. “I’d noticed that, too. This warehouse is strewn with gold-covered idols and ancient treasures. But the only thing missing is… one old bronze tablet?”

“We’ve spent enough time here,” Nur said. “It’s about time we took a trip down to HQ.”

The walk wasn’t long, but it was just far enough that Nur couldn’t justify returning to the evidence warehouse when she caught her sister taking that blue-eyed amulet out of her pocket. “Sis!” she hissed instead, outraged. “What are you doing with that?”

“No law against an investigator taking evidence during the course of an ongoing investigation,” Layla said, shrugging.

“YES THERE IS!”, Nur hissed.

“Well, no important law, anyway,” Layla said. She spat on the amulet and put it back in her pocket. “Besides, I figure we’ll need as much luck as we can get. Look around you.”

The air in the police HQ was deadly tense. On a normal day, there’d be at least half a dozen police sitting around, munching on candied breads and sipping kafe. Today, there were none, and a weapon glinted conspicuously at every man’s hip.

“Hello, Inspectors,” Sergeant Ikram said as the sisters arrived at the front desk. “What brings you here today?”

“We’re here to speak to the master of the caravan you impounded yesterday,” Nur said. “One Mas’ud ibn Maruf, I believe?”

The sergeant shook his head grimly. “I’m sorry, Inspectors,” he said. “That won’t be possible.”

“What do you mean?” Layla burst in. “You haven’t released him, have you?”

The sergeant shook his head.

“Then where is he?” Nur asked. “And what happened here?”

“The intruder practically cut his tongue out!”, the police constable assigned to escort the sisters said enthusiastically, gesticulating as he spoke. “Got into his cell early this morning without anyone seeing him and just sawed right away at it! Then when our man stumbled into him, the assassin whirled, threw his dagger right into our guy’s knee - just like that! - leapt past him, grabbed the dagger back, and -”

“That’ll be all for now,” Nur said, interrupting the constable as they reached the police infirmary. “We’ll be speaking to the caravan master now. In private, please.”

The constable turned away, sad-faced.

“Ah, is it a problem if I’m here?” asked a woman dressed all in white. “It’s just, someone needs to tend to him…”

“A nun from the Alabaster Order? I’m sure it’ll be no trouble - you swore vows of discretion and abstinence from mundane politics, right?” Layla asked cheerily.

“Yes, exactly,” the nun said, nodding so vigorously her habit nearly fell off. “I’m just here to keep his dressings fresh and change his bedpan on the hour. Ah - I’m sister Suha, sorry, should have said...”

“What are his chances?” Nur asked.

“Very good,” replied Suha. “He’s well past the worst period for infection, and it looks like the attacker’s knife was clean. I’ve left his mouth stuffed with garlic and herbs, so there should be no way for evil spirits to sneak their way in. He should live a long life, barring further misfortune like this.” She drew a cross over her chest.

“And his tongue?” Layla asked. “Will that heal?”

Sister Suha took a furtive glance at the bed, where Mas’ud still lay, eyes shut. “Who can say?” she said, vigorously shaking her head: no.

Nur had already made her way to the caravan master’s bed. A wax tablet lay on a table to his side, mostly covered in angular requests for water and to have the (“FOUL”) dressings removed. Nur wiped it clean.

“Master ibn Maruf,” Nur said. “Are you able to answer my questions?”

He opened his eyes slightly and gazed dully at her.

“Master ibn Maruf,” Nur said. “Your life is in danger. One attempt has already been made on it. The police can protect you from a second; but only if you tell us what we need to know. Who hired you to excavate those artifacts?”

“Who says he wasn’t freelance?” Layla hissed.

“A man like that never works without a guarantee of pay,” Nur whispered back.

The caravan master had been awkwardly scrawling on the wax tablet. He stopped, his message reading simply: DON’T KNOW.

“What?” Layla asked. “How can you not know?”

The second message took considerably longer to write out. Layla elbowed Nur to get a good view as he wrote it, letter by letter. MET ENVOY. ONCE. THAQAB. SAME UNIFORM.

“A tiny town, three hours ride east,” Layla said.

“You’ve heard of it?” Nur asked, surprised.

“I’ve been there,” Layla said, wrinkling her lip. “Wouldn’t recommend the experience.”

“Pardon me, Investigators,” Sister Suha said, gently pushing the sisters away from ibn Maruf. “I’m afraid my patient is quite exhausted from all this. He needs to rest now.”

“That’s fine,” Nur said, turning to make her way out of the police station. “I think we’ve gotten all we need for now.”

“Something about this whole mess smells,” Layla said, rubbing her brow. “What did he mean about ‘same uniform’, exactly?”

“Agreed,” Nur said, “But - GET BACK!”

As the sisters left the police station, there was a rustling noise, and then a whir of steel. As Nur pulled Layla back, a long dagger embedded itself firmly in the station’s front doorframe, pinning a paper to it.

“I saw him!” Layla said, straining against Nur’s grasp. “On the roofs, a flash of white. They must have followed us from the warehouse and been waiting for us. We have to go after him before he’s gone!”

“No,” Nur said. “You know better than that. Neither of us lived this long by chasing an unknown number of attackers into a blind maze of alleys - especially when they have the height advantage.”

Layla sighed and nodded. She turned to the dagger. “Look,” she said, “He left us a note!”

“STOP INVESTIGATION IMMEDIATELY,” Nur read out. “NEXT DAGGER WILL LAND IN YOUR HEART.”

“Rude,” Layla observed. She wasn’t paying full attention. “Nur, look at this dagger. Do you see what I see?”

Nur peered at it carefully. “Flecks of dark red, right at the base? That’s not wood polish,” she said. “What are the odds that ibn Maruf would recognize this dagger if we took it back to him?”

“Good enough that I’m not even going to bother,” Layla said. “No time to waste. We have mounts and supplies to requisition.”

It was shortly past noon when the town of Thaqab appeared on the horizon. “I can see why you recommended so highly,” Nur said drily. “It must have, what, a dozen buildings?”

“Oh, twice that, I’m sure,” Layla said.

“Even so, it’d be nice if ibn Maruf had told us where he’d met that envoy,” Nur said. “If we aren’t careful, we’ll be searching the place until nightfall…”

Layla laughed.

“What?” Nur asked.

“You think a town this small has more than one inn?” Layla asked. “Nope: one and exactly one. I know it very well. And where else would a thirsty caravan master meet with a new business opportunity?”

The inn’s sign read, in faded letters: THE CLEAN HOLE.

“Ew,” Nur said.

“No, no,” Layla said, climbing off her camel and tying it up out back. The inn was far too small to afford a fulltime stablehand, of course. “It’s just missing a bit. Look, in the bottom left: it’s THE CLEAN WATER HOLE.”

“Hardly better,” Nur sighed.

“Ho there, strangers!” the innkeep said as the sisters entered, putting a half-cleaned mug aside. The handful of other customers seated inside turned to look. “What’ll I do you for today?”

“Ugh,” Layla said. “It’s been long enough that they’ve forgotten me. Very well.” Pitching her voice, she shouted: “DRINKS ALL AROUND, ON ME!”

“What are you DOING?” Nur asked.

“Oh, you haven’t spent much time out in the wilds, have you?” Layla said. “It’s all about give and take. Buy them a few drinks, get ‘em nicely sloshed, and they’ll be talking in no time.”

“Do we really have time for this?” Nur asked.

“Hey, you were the one who was ready to search the whole town!”, Layla replied.

Luckily for Nur’s patience, the locals saw no reason not to be cooperative. In less than an hour’s time, they were talking. “Ah, I know just who you mean,” said an older man. “Came in here just in about a moon’s time ago. Didn’t say much - seemed like he wanted the caravan master to do most of the talking. Hain’t seen a fella like that… ah, but one other time.”

“When?” Layla asked, trying not to seem too eager.

“Why, but half an hour ago,” the old man said. “He peeked in that there window, dressed in his all-white getup - wouldn’t mistake it for a moment. Then he - wait, where are you going?”

“Damn it!” Nur cursed, charging through the kitchen and out the rear of the inn. Seeing the leads cut and their camels gone, she skidded to a stop. “Not again!”

“They’re slippery,” Layla said, beginning to poke around. “Looks like they took ours and set the rest of the locals’ beasts free; they’ll get em back, of course, but it’ll take time. They had time to leave another note, too.”

“STOP INVESTIGATION,” Nur read. “THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.” She sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to start out a little later this evening. At least we know where he’s headed.”

“Huh?” Layla said. “Think about it,” Nur said. “Did you read the report on the caravan when they first brought it in yesterday? Remember where they got those artifacts from in the first place?”

“Probably,” Layla said. She paused, then snapped her fingers. “You don’t mean… the ruins of Uruk? In the middle of the Desolation?”

“Why else would he take our camels?” Layla asked. “It’s nine times easier to track a man with three camels than one with one. The only reason he’d need that many is to make it to the center of the Desolation and back.”

Layla nodded vigorously. Then she set out running.

“What are you doing?” Nur yelled from behind her.

“I’m going to requisition some loose camels!”

That night, Layla and Nur sat talking around a softly glowing campfire. “I think I’ve figured it out,” Layla said.

“I’ve got something, too,” Nur said. “You first.”

“Are you still wondering who hired our caravan master?” Layla asked. “Who this envoy and these assassins are working for?”

“More than a bit,” Nur admitted. “They’re all damn good at what they do, and the uniform implies real organization. Who’s got the resources to put all that together?”

Layla shook her head. “It’s simpler than that. The employer is the employed. The envoy, the assassins, and his boss are all one man.”

“Think about it,” she continued. “We’ve never seen more than one of them acting at once. They use the same clothes, the same weapons, the same style. What better way to throw off suspicion and confuse pursuers by inventing a ‘boss’ and an ‘organization’ that never existed.”

Nur nodded, convinced. “All right, here’s mine. Why did he try to cut the caravan master’s tongue out?”

“Cruelty?” Layla suggested. “Stupidity?”

“It doesn’t add up,” Nur said. “Twice now, he could have tried to kill us, but warned us instead. He didn’t kill the police constable who caught him, either. He’s not prone to casual cruelty. And as for stupidity - would someone that stupid be able to outfox us so easily?”

Layla shrugged. “Then what?”

“The tablet,” Nur said. “Such things almost always hold dark magics. What if he discovered what it held?”

“But how does that explain the tongue?” Layla asked. “What dark magic could require a severed tongue?”

“It’s exactly the opposite,” Nur said. “I believe that tablet to have held the secrets of necromancy - the ability to speak with the dead. And if he thought that we had uncovered those secrets -”

“Because the patina was gone by the time HE’d gotten to it,” Layla said excitedly, “of course he couldn’t have known that we weren’t able to read it. And if we did know how to perform necromancy, the only way for the caravan master’s knowledge to stay secret -”

“- would be if his tongue was removed BEFORE he became a ghost.”, Nur finished. “That’s why he removed the tongue first, rather than simply cutting the poor man’s throat.”

“But what’s all this lead up to?” Layla asked. “What is he planning to do in Uruk? What secrets has he awakened?”

“I don’t know,” Nur admitted. “But I don’t think we’re going to like the answers.”

Desolation surrounded the ruins of Uruk for fully two days’ ride. Not a plant grew; not a drop to drink was to be found. Nur and Layla hoarded their water jealousy.

“Is that it?” Layla asked at last.

“I don’t know what else it can be,” Nur replied. She squinted at the shadow on the horizon. “But - a storm, here? I don’t like it even a little bit.”

The storm seemed to grow as they approached, swelling in darkness and in fury. Great booms of thunder split the air. “Can we say that our necromancer has started his little chat?” Nur asked.

“I wouldn’t bet against it,” Layla replied. She braced herself against a gust of wind blowing through the ruins. “Is it just me, or do those clouds look a bit like a face?”

Nur squinted. Normally she would laugh at Layla looking for shapes in clouds, but… she saw it, too.

The necromancer wasn’t hard to find. His camel tracks had blown away, but the storm’s epicenter sat directly above him. Mumbling, he knelt in the center of a ring of toppled pillars, the bronze tablet sitting on an altar before him. His white robes were growing dirty and frayed.

“You’re under arrest!”, Layla shouted, raising her voice to carry over the storm. “On charges of attempted murder, torture, exacerbated lockpicking, etc, etc, I hereby - “

The necromancer whirled. “You!” he cursed. “I tried everything I could to get rid of you peacefully. Why won’t you just go?”

“We’re officers of the law,” Nur said, approaching him.

“Stop them!”, the necromancer cried, gazing upward.

“Get back!”, Layla cried, grabbing at Nur with her left arm. With her right, she whipped out her amulet, spitting on it messily.

“Is now really the time - ?” Nur asked, before being interrupted by a deafening burst of light and heat. When her vision cleared, she saw a black, scorched ring all around Layla. Nur’s left boot lay just barely inside.

“Wow,” Layla said. “Didn’t really expect that to work.”

“All gods damn you!” the necromancer cried. “I’ve been working on this for half my life, every since I found those old tomes in the Cloister. Every source I’ve found has spoken of the great power the Dead God of Uruk holds, and this tablet only confirmed it! Why would you try to stop me now!” There was another bright flash and crack of thunder; the ring of darkness around Nur and Layla grew deeper.

“If I can just get to him - “ Nur said, reaching for the service dagger at her belt. Layla reached out to stop her. “What did you say about the tablet confirming?” Layla asked.

“Listen!” the necromancer replied, his ego stoked. “<On the ninth year of the siege / our elders embraced despair. / They built a great loom / so that all might share the same fate…> Do you hear that? A loom! It’s a metaphor! They sought to end war by bringing all people together! If only those fools had let them finish - imagine what the world would be like today!”

“You idiot!” Layla replied, unable to control herself. “That doesn’t say <loom>! It says <doom>! You’ve awakened a death machine, a god hungry for blood and death - the same one that created the Devastation! And now there’s no one around to stop it!”

The necromancer’s face turned white. He whirled, poring over the tablet once more; then leapt back as lighting struck it. A rolling wave of thunder surrounded the altar, blasting ancient pillars into stone shards. Layla’s amulet began to sizzle.

“Uh, sis,” Layla said. “Sorry, but that’s all I’ve got. And I don’t think this amulet has much longer in it.”

The necromancer’s face was panicky. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he cried. “What do I do?”

“STOP IT!”, the sisters yelled together.

There was another flash of lightning, followed by a deep, resounding, boom. It faded slowly as the sisters regained their vision.

“Does that sound… satisfied?” Nur asked, raising her voice to be heard over the ringing in her ears. Then she gasped. “Look!”

The storm had dissipated. In its center lay the necromancer, slumped against the altar, a dagger in his hand. Blood coated the altar, the knife, and his neck.

Nur walked up to him slowly. “Why…”

“It was the only way,” the necromancer whispered. “Life-blood is the only thing that will satiate the dead god of Uruk. You taught me that. The longer I waited, the greater its hunger would grow. This was the only way to send it back to sleep. And…” He coughed. “I deserve this.”

“If someone raises it again,” Nur began.

“No!” the necromancer said, wheezing with the last of his strength. “No one else must be allowed to make the mistakes I’ve made. Please… bury this tablet here… that no one else may find it again.” His eyes closed.

Nur walked back to Layla, still examining her burnt and blackened amulet. “Looks like I’ll have to file a loss report for this one,” Layla said. Then she cocked an eyebrow at the tablet. “And for that, too?”

Nur shook her head. “And let some other fool dig it up in the exact same way?”, she whispered, unsure whether the necromancer yet breathed. “No. We’re taking this right back to the evidence warehouse, and we’re keeping it.”

Layla nodded, pleased.

“Think about it this way,” she said, beginning the hunt for their frightened camels. “Think of how many cases we’ll be able to solve with this!”

THE END

[pleasingwords]

Ghost in the Pole

Markus brought his SUV to a halt in the middle of the office park’s crowded parking lot, not bothering to try to find a space. He picked up the large, cubical case sitting on his passenger seat, got out of the car, and addressed the nearest office building.

“I know what you’ve been doing,” Markus said. “Malfunctioning AC… mysterious accidents… deaths. You’re haunting this building, possessing its metal spine. And you’re using it to kill.”

“If you want to live, you’ll jump into this,” Markus said, opening his case to reveal a tiny iron cube inside. “Otherwise… I can’t guarantee your safety.”

The wind blew quietly over the parking lot.

Then, at a register beyond normal humans’ comprehension - echoing through the ethereal plane - a deep, booming laughter rang out. “MY safety, little mortal? I am Zar-Dul, most terrible and fearsome of spirits. I have lived in this world for over 10,000,000 seconds now - nearly four months! - and I have grown fat and glutted in power over that time. You can no more harm me than you could harm this building itself. Tremble before me!”

“Very well, then,” Markus said. Leaving his case open, he returned to his SUV, clambering into the driver’s seat and closing the door.

The seatbelt snapped closed across his body.

“Foolish mortal!” Zar-Dul whispered. “Did you not realize that I could move? Now I am possessing this magnificent crossover hybrid SUV. There is no escape from me. You can no more harm me than you can harm this car itself… and with its advanced driver’s assistance and automatic braking capabilities, fat chance of that!”

Markus set the car in motion, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street. He drove slowly, scanning both sides of the street as he went.

A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“Ha!” Zar-Dul chortled. “I have full control of this vehicle’s heating capabilities. I’ll cook you alive, and no one will be the wiser for it! Drive on, fool. Drive to your doom!”

Markus ignored him, continuing to scan along the roadside. Spotting something, he made a sharp right turn into a store’s parking lot, parking carefully in the space closest to the store.

The locks on the SUV activated noisily. “You think now is the time to go shopping?” Zar-Dul asked. “You’ll never escape!”

Markus checked to be sure that both of his feet were firmly on the insulated floor mat. Then he pulled a small device from his pocked, slammed it onto the driver’s side door, and flipped a switch.

“Aaaaargh!” Zar-Dul screamed. “Ten thousand volts through my precious, precious hide! I must escape - can’t go into your keys or belt buckle, i’d be powerless in so tiny a form! The cube - no! I’ll never surrender! Need to find something else, as close as possible - there!”

Markus wasted no time. While Zar-Dul was still stunned and recovering, Markus flipped his electrifier back off, reversed out of the space, and floored the accelerator. The SUV jumped forward, smashing into the ‘disabled only’ pole at the end of the space and bending it at a violent 30-degree angle.

A long scream echoed in the ethereal plane. Then slowly it dissipated, and faded into nothingness.

Markus let out a breath of relief. Getting out of his car, he walked over to the front, then shook his head.

“Well, won’t that just be hell on my premiums,” he sighed.

[pleasingwords]

Sewnup

Lexi got a cough when she was 14 years old. She wasn’t too worried about it - she’d had plenty of coughs before. Her parents, though, were much more concerned.

Her mother left a note on her desk: ‘Are you doing all right? How does your throat feel?’

“Pretty rough,” Lexi admitted.

“That’s it,” her father said. “You’re going straight to the doctor.”

The doctor looked at Lexi, poked and prodded her a little, shone a light down her throat. Then, as Lexi’s parents held her hands, he took a needle and thread and sewed Lexi’s lips shut.

It was hard on Lexi at first. Taking all of her meals through a thin straw was uncomfortable and time-consuming enough that she lost weight, and having to write down everything she wanted to say made Lexi ‘say’ a lot less. The difference was especially pronounced in Physics class; before, she’d raised her hand so quickly and so often that the teacher had to ask Lexi to let other students have a turn!

Luckily, Lexi was sewnup later than most girls; most of the others at her school had already outgrown their own voices. Lexi’s friends supported her, encouraging her and teaching her the little sign language they’d developed to make it easier to talk amongst themselves. Within a few months, Lexi’s funk was mostly gone, and her grades were rebounding. Her parents couldn’t be happier.

When it came time to apply for college, years later, Lexi got lucky. She won admission on a Sewnup scholarship. Those were very popular; college students needed wives, and Sewnup women wanted educated husbands. The scholarship lasted for two years, which was considered generous; most women were happily married and dropped out well before the scholarship ran out.

Thus, most people Lexi knew were baffled by the effort she put into her academics once she got to college. ‘What’s the point?’ her mother wrote during Lexi’s second year at college. ‘Why use up all that energy? I worry about you, dear. Go out, meet new people, visit some parties - don’t trap yourself inside with those dry old books!’

It was at a party that Lexi met the man with whom she would have her first, disastrous, sexual relationship. He was a friend of a friend, and he had mutual attraction in common with Lexi; but, sadly, little else. During their breakup, he complained about the ‘disgusting’ noises Lexi made in the heat of passion, preferring her to be silent instead; Lexi, in turn, was irritated by the condescension he showed toward her academic pursuits. Afterward, his entire friend group cut off contact with Lexi, leaving her lonelier than ever.

As a result, Lexi found herself sitting in the cafeteria with Jena, a friend she hadn’t hung out with since the first year of college. As they ate, Lexi wrote to Jena: ‘it’s SO annoying. You can see how ratty my sewup job is - I def need to go in to the doc to replace it soon. The only slot he has is noon Weds, tho - right during the fluid dynam midterm!’

“Why do you care?” Jena asked, fixing a firm gaze on Lexi. Her voice was rich and deep, so enviably masculine as to need no correction. “Your scholarship is going to be up soon. What good will grades do you after that?”

Lexi blew out a breath through her sealed lips. ‘i think I could be a real physicist, you know? It’d be hard, but i’ve always loved phys - and how much do scientists need to talk, really?’

There was a pregnant pause. Jena looked at Lexi, thinking.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lexi said, feeling awkward. ‘I’ve never told anyone else this - i’m just feeling lonely, that’s all. It’s silly. please don’t spread this around’

“Why don’t you have the stiches taken out?” Jena asked.

‘I can’t!’ Lexi wrote quickly. ‘everyone knows the horrible damage to the throat of women speaking after a certain age - our systems just aren’t designed for it! Not everyone can be like you…’

“Are you sure?” Jena asked. “There are women who speak - not just ones like me, but women with higher voices, too, especially abroad. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. Why are you so sure you couldn’t be like them?”

‘It’s risky’, Lexi wrote, her nutrient slurry sitting untouched. ‘I’ve heard of them, but i’ve also heard of women who try to speak with their disused, atrophied female vocal cords and tear out their own throats. Everyone’s heard of it. What would everyone think if i did that to myself? What would my parents think?’

“I know we have never been that close,” Jena said, “but I feel like I’ve got a good read on you. You want to have it all - to be a scientist and to keep everyone else happy. I don’t think it’s going to happen. No one is going to hire a sewnup for any role more serious than secretary or typist - who’d take them seriously? You’re going to have to choose.”

Lexi looked as if she wanted to protest, but her pen arm sat motionless.

“I could be wrong, of course,” Jena said, standing up with her emptied food tray. “Enjoy your lunch!”

Lexi continued sitting at her table for a long time.

Then she stood and approached the cafeteria counter. ‘Pardon me,’ she wrote. ‘Do you have any scissors?’

Inspired by Mary Beard’s Women & Power.

[pleasingwords]

Beans, Pt. 2

The market on Phobos Station was set up, every weeknight, in the otherwise-disused auditorium on the edge of the station. Most of the goods sold there were officially forbidden, smuggled in surreptitiously. The station’s officers hungered for the luxuries they’d known on earth, though, and had looked the other way for long enough that the market’s sellers had forgotten to fear them.

When the Purity Inspector’s men marched in, Lisha and Ameli were no more prepared than any of the others.

“They’ve blocked the exits!” Ameli yelled. “What’s going on?” A stall came crashing nearby; someone screamed.

“Stay calm,” Lisha said, keeping her voice firm. “I’ll handle this.“

They didn’t wait for her to say a word. As soon as the men arrived at Lisha’s stall, they began to dismantle it, smashing poles and tables, hauling her sacks of beans into their carts to be impounded.

“Stop!” Lisha cried. “Did you ask Grigori about this? He’ll -”

One of the men - even taller than the rest; a leader? - laughed. “Grigori takes orders from the Inspector now. But he did ask for me to give you this.”

The backhand he delivered knocked Lisha to the floor. There she lay, working as hard as she could not to cry out in pain, listening to the cries from the rest of the market and Ameli’s quiet sobs, as the Purity Inspector’s men took everything else before finally leaving.

“That’s the end of it,” Lisha said later, as Ameli gently cradled her head with a wet cloth. “No more smuggling, no more market. We’ll have to live off scut work, just like when we first came here.”

“No!” Ameli said. “You’d give up, just like that? After what they did to you?”

“What else can we do?” Lisha asked. “After what they did to us, how can we resist?”

“We can fight them!” Ameli said. “Like the heroes of old, Tubman and Douglass, Jamilah and Obama! We can use our wits and our bravery and we can beat them?”

“This isn’t a story,” Lisha said, her voice tired. “I can’t take crazy risks. What my little Elil do without me?”

“What will she do now?” Ameli asked. “Will you send her back to the life she had before, without the money from the market? Showers once a week, protein once a month?”

Lisha sighed. “I’ll figure something out. What else can I do?”

When she got home that evening, Lisha noticed that Elli was unusually quiet. “What wrong, little gem?” she asked, hoping that Elli hadn’t noticed the lump on the back of Lisha’s head.

“Can I ask you a question, Mommy?” Elli asked.

“Of course,” Lisha said. “I’ve always told you, you can ask me whatever you want.”

“The other kids were calling me names today,” Elli said. “They said I was dirty, and that their parents told them that people like me would be put where I belonged soon. Why would they do that? What does that mean?”

Lisha sighed.

“That means that they’re scared,” Lisha explained. “All they value in themselves is being better than others, and they’re afraid you’ll be just as good as them or better. So they’re trying to knock you down and steal your self-respect to keep you underneath them.”

“What do I do?” Elli asked.

“You need to find your friends - your real friends - and work together. Just like in the stories.” Lisha said.

“Like Jamilah?” Elli asked.

“Exactly!” Lisha said.

“So we should ask the teachers for some shovels, and then -” Elli began, before Lisha tackled her. “No!” she said, tickling her daughter until she broke into uncontrollable laughter.

Lisha had trouble sleeping that night. They’d had trouble when they first came to Phobos Station, but Lisha had really thought that Elli had found a place there. What could have changed to suddenly make the other children, and their parents, so enthusiastic about the worst prejudices from the National Republic?

The Purity Inspector.

Lisha didn’t know what she could do. But she had to do something.

It was a pleasant surprise for Lisha to encounter Michael midway through her next day’s janitorial shift. “Hello there!” he said, settling down onto a bench next to the one Lisha was cleaning. “Haven’t seen you since I picked up the order the other day. How’s business?”

“Not so good,” Lisha said. “The Purity Inspector’s shut everything down, and locked away everyone’s goods. The market is closed for… forever, maybe.”

Michael shook his head. “The Purity Inspector! The man’s nothing but trouble, I swear. I’ve nothing against Purity, of course, I’m a loyal citizen of the Democratic Republic… but would you believe I’ve been taken off my regular duties to play the trumpet for his welcoming ceremony tomorrow?”

“That’s ridiculous!”, Lisha commiserated.

“You can say that again,” Michael said. “I’ve a mind to play nothing but fart trumpet for his grand opening - they’ve impressed another dozen poor souls into the band, so it won’t be easy for them to tell who’s playing what.”

Lisha laughed. Then, as she continued to spray and scrub her way around, an idea grew in her mind.

“Michael?” she said. “Are you serious about the fart trumpets? If you are, I promise you a free bag of beans whenever my stall is open next.”

Michael considered it. “You know what?” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Ameli was waiting when Lisha’s shift ended. “I found out where they’re keeping everything,” she said. “Everything the Purity Inspector’s men impounded, they handed to Grigori. And he stashed it right where he stashes everything…”

“Secure storage?” Lisha asked. “The room he gave the code to maintenance for, since he thought it smelled ‘too musty?’”

“Yep!” Ameli said. “He’s storing the decorations for the Purity Inspector’s welcoming celebration there, too. Balloons, confetti balls, banners, everything. The man’s a one-trick pony!”

“All right,” Lisha said. “Here’s what we do…”

The next day, her shift manager Daryl was looking for volunteers. “All RIGHT, everyone!” he shouted. “We need to get the auditorium cleaned up for the welcoming ceremony, and we need it done perfect. It’ll be extra work, so whooo wants to - “

“I’ll do it,” Lisha said.

Daryl paused, surprised. “You... aren’t going to cause trouble, are you?” he asked.

“Daryl,” Lisha said. “I’m your best worker. What do you think?”

Daryl looked at her. He tilted his head. He raised one eyebrow.

“All right,” he said. “The stage is yours. Just stay safe out there, won’t you?”

The Purity Inspector’s thugs hadn’t bothered cleaning up after their attack on the market in the auditorium two nights ago; debris was scattered everywhere, mixed with traces of blood. Still, Lisha was motivated. Sneaking between the workers busy setting up the balloons and banners and confetti balls for the ceremony (Ameli, among them, gave Lisha a wink in passing), Lisha had the entire room clean and pure by the time the station crew began to filter in.

They arrived in reverse order of senority. The audience filed in first, followed by the band - Michael, square in the middle, looked extra grumpy. The Purity Inspector’s guards moved in next, clearing a path through the middle of the crowd for Star-Commandant Grigori to make his way to the stage. Then at last it was his turn - the Purity Inspector. The symbol of the Democratic National Republic’s ideology in all its strength and majesty, the avatar of a people pure and undivided. The banners on the walls - One Nation, One People, One Color - fluttered as the doors swung open for his arrival, and the band kicked in as the Purity Inspector strode down the aisle -

- and halted. “Who is that?” he shouted, his voice surprisingly shrill within his ceremonial armor. “Who is playing those… ridiculous trumpet noises?”

The band went silent. None of its members seemed inclined to confess to any sins against Purity.

“Ridiculous,” the Purity Inspector said, resuming his march down the aisle. “This whole station has gone completely to rot. It’s about time someone brought some stability around here -”

As the Inspector stepped onto the center of the auditorium stage, the position reserved exclusively for him, his confident step encountered a sad fact. He slipped, he fell, he crashed to the ground, and it became clear that whoever had cleaned the auditorium had completely neglected to dry the stage after mopping it.

The whole room stood dead silent, motionless, as the Inspector struggled (with a few false starts) to regain his footing. He stared at the man closest to him, Star-Commandant Grigori, with loathing obvious in his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Inspector hissed. “Are you afraid of me, Commandant? Are you trying to retain your petty little position here, your command of your grimy little station, by humiliating me? Because I will warn you now and I will warn you once only - I am the symbol of the Republic. And even those of pure color should be very, very leery of defying the Republic.”

Grigori’s face turned even whiter than usual.

“N-no!” he said. “You’ve completely misunderstood the situation! All of us here on Phobos Station love and celebrate the Republic. Here - I’ll show you the symbol of our feelings for you!”

And with that, Grigori lunged toward the Inspector’s dias and pulled the string for the confetti ball dangling above it. The confetti ball cracked open, and from it poured…

Beans.

Endless, black, glistening beans.

Grigori stood motionless, mouth agape.

“No!” he shouted, panicked, as the Inspector gestured and his men grabbed Grigori by both arms. “No! I did nothing wrong! Please! This is all a terrible mistake!”

“I’ve had quite enough of this filthy, dark, foul station,” the Inspector said. “You and I are going straight back to Earth on my shuttle, and we’ll see who did what!”

They left the auditorium and passed out of sight, shouting still dwindling in the distance. Slowly, aimlessly, the crowd began to disperse.

“So,” Michael said, approaching Lisha in the back of the auditorium. He opened his hand.

“Free beans?”

[pleasingwords]

Beans, Pt. 1

Lisha smiled as she finished weighing the bag of illegal beans. “That’ll be 5.3 credits,” she said.

“It was 4.8 last week,” Michael said.

“Our supplier’s been having trouble lately,” Lisha explained. “More cargo space than usual’s been taken up with material for the station expansion, so there’s not much space to hide unauthorized luxuries in. We have to charge extra just to cover costs.”

Michael sighed. “Fair enough, fair enough,” he replied, scooping up the beans in one hand. As he left, he called out, “See you next week!”

“Well, he didn’t take that too badly,” Ameli said from her stall next to Lisha’s. “He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?”

“He’s polite,” Lisha said. “You can tell that he doesn’t like us any more than the rest of them, deep down. But he doesn’t hate us, and he knows that if he ticks us off, he’ll be eating nothing but unflavored soy rations for the rest of his deployment.”

“Eww!” Ameli said. She stuck out her tongue and giggled. Then, as she looked to Lisha’s right, she turned suddenly straight-faced.

As Lisha turned to see what Ameli was looking at, a shadow fell over her table.

“All of it,” Grigori said. “I know these are illegal goods. Hand them over. Now.”

Lisha met his gaze unflinchingly. “Hello, Commander,” she said. “I’m afraid I have other customers, so I simply can’t give you all the beans. But I’d be happy to fill your usual order for a mere… 50 credits.”

“What kind of money do you think I have? Do you think you’re dealing with a prince of the Republic here?” Grigori asked. “Forty credits, and no higher.”

“It’d be sixty”, Lisha said, “but you’ve been such a good customer.” She smiled.

“I could have you shut down!” Grigori roared.

“You could,” Lisha agreed. “And then how would you get your beans?”

Grigori grumbled and paid. But before he went, he left one final message: “Enjoy this moment, you umber witch. This is the last time you’ll cheat me or anyone on Phobos Station!”

“Was he worse than usual?” Lisha asked Ameli, at that moment finishing up with her own customer.

“You know I can never tell with him,” Ameli said. “It’s so crazy that he ended up here. How did a man like him pass the examinations to become a Star-Commandant?”

Sometimes Ameli amazed Lisha. How could she have lived this long, in the skin she wore, and still be so innocent? *Everyone* knew the examinations were rigged for the men with cash and connections. How else could a man like Grigori end up in command of the Democratic National Republic’s most important Mars orbiter?

“Beats me,” Lisha said. “Beats me.”

On the walk home from the market, Lisha saw a crowd gathered around the docking bay. Pushing her way to the front, Lisha saw there was a shuttle docked - had she completely lost track of time? Was she late to pick up her goods, before the legitimate users of the cargo began to unload it?

No. This wasn’t the scheduled time for supply deliveries, and that wasn’t the supply delivery shuttle. It was an emergency model, designed to hurl the most valuable and time-critical cargo directly from Earth itself straight to Mars in a fraction of the time.

Lisha had seen only once before, when the oxygen regenerator failed. Grigori was quick to find someone else to blame, but that didn’t make the rest of the station much happier while they hooked into the emergency oxygen reserves and waited for the shuttle to come with a replacement.

But Lisha hadn’t heard of any emergency on the station this time. No trouble at all, actually, which was unusual in itself. So why would the National Republic spend tens of millions to send a special cargo here, now?

Lisha was in a dark mood when she got home, but Elli would have none of that. “Mommy, mommy!” she shouted the moment Lisha approached their bunk room, bouncing up and down with excitement. “I brushed my teeth and heated up dinner packets and cleaned the room TWICE. I’ve been extra good, haven’t I?”

“You sure have,” Lisha said, ruffling her daughter’s short-cropped hair. She’d worn her hair longer back on Earth, but that wasn’t practical on the station, and by now Elli hardly remembered it any other way.

“So…” Elli said. “I’ve been good enough for a story, haven’t I?”

“Of course, my little baked bean,” Lisha said. “Let’s have dinner, and then it’s storytime.”

Elli wanted one she’d heard before, of course. “Tell me the story of Jamilah and the great rebellion!”

“This was a long, long time ago, many hundreds of years ago,” Lisha began. “In those days, our ancestors were still in chains. They’d been enslaved for as long as they were alive, and their parents, and their grandparents, too. It had been so long since they’d been free that they’d almost given up hope.”

“NEVER do that!” Elli shouted. “That’s stupid. You NEVER give up hope!”

“That’s right,” Lisha said, smiling. “And it was a good thing they hadn’t given up, because there was a war going on. One side was fighting to keep our ancestors enslaved, and the other side wanted to free them!

“Jamilah worked on a farm near a river. One day, the river rose real high. The owner told her and all the other slaves, ‘With the river so swollen, the North will surely send boats down it to steal you away! And that’s if I’m lucky - if not, the river will flood, too, and the whole farm will be ruined! Everyone, stay in the cellar until the flood passes, so the North doesn’t take you away.’”

“But they WANTED to be taken away!” Elli said.

“That’s right,” Lisha said. “So Jamilah came up with a plan. She told the owner, ‘If it floods while we’re in the cellar, we’ll all drown! Why don’t you let us take the shovels and pile up more dirt on the riverbank first?’

“The owner agreed, not seeing the harm. Jamilah and all the other slaves took the shovels and went out to the river. But instead of making the riverbank higher, they all dug into it instead, until it gave way and flooded the whole farm. The owner was trapped in his farmhouse, and could do nothing but shout and shake his fist, until the North’s boats came and took Jamilah and all the others away.”

Lisha closed the book quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping Elli. She yawned. Time for her to sleep, too. She needed as much rest as she could get before it was time to start her day job.

A day on Mars is 24 hours and 37 minutes long. Every morning, as she rubbed her eyes blearily and pulled on her overalls, Lisha gave thanks for those extra 37 minutes of sleep.

There was no crowd as Lisha walked to work; most people on Phobos Station were lucky enough to be able to sleep at this early an hour. Not Lisha, nor the rest of the Maintenance crew. Most of the others showed the lack of sleep on their faces; the notable exception was Daryl, who was as disgustingly chipper as ever.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!” he shouted, laughing. “Come on, Lisha, time to get to work! I’m gonna need you to mop and scrub twice as hard as usual today! Really get it all bright and shining - put those “warning, slippery surface” signs to WORK!”

“Ugh,” Lisha said. “Why are you picking on me, Daryl? You know I’m your best worker.”

“Of course you are!” Daryl said. “Everyone’s going to need to work extra hard today. It’s a special day, after all!”

Lisha looked at him.

“Oh,” Daryl said. “I guess Grigori didn’t send you the announcement. Funny, since he was the one who told me how important it was that the station look its absolute best. Today’s the day the Purity Inspector arrives!”

The Societal Purity Inspector.

Today was going to be a very bad day.

[pleasingwords]

Desiderata, The Littlest Planetoid

Desiderata spun gently through space. She was just a little planetoid, too small even for gravity to even her bumps and curves into a sphere. And space was very big. Once in a while, Desi would see another planetoid spinning by, and they'd have a little chat. But sometimes it was years and years and years before that would happen. That made Desi feel very lonely.

One day, Desi felt something hit her. Little things hit her all the time - there was a lot of dust in space, especially in Desi's orbit! But this wasn't just a little piece of dust. It was a whole big chunk of metal, with traces of impure carbon inside. Desi was very curious!

"Hi there!" Desi said. "Who are you?"

"We're from Earth!" the carbon things said. "We came all the way out here to visit you." Then, the Earthlings started poking and prodding at Desi, and scratching her all over!

"Ouch!" Desi said. "Why are you doing that?"

"We just want to see what you're like on the inside!" the Earthlings said. "We like you a lot. Has anyone ever told you you've got a real heart of gold?"

"Aww!" Desi said. Her surface temperature elevated several degrees in embarrassment, and she forgot all about being mad!

"How would you like to come home with us?" the Earthlings asked.

"Wow!" Desi said. "That sounds great! Then I'd never be lonely!"

The Earthlings got back in their metal tube, and made it push Desi for a long time. After a while, Desi noticed a blue light getting bigger and bigger. It was big enough that it could catch Desi and send her orbiting around it!

"Hi!" Desi said. "I'm Desiderata, a class-C carbonaceous asteroid. Are you Earth?"

"Oh, no," the Earth said.

"Huh?" Desi asked. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, little one," the Earth said. "You should not have come here."

"Why not? Am I not cool enough to orbit with you?" Desi asked.

Then she yelped. "Ouch! They're drilling into me! What are they doing?"

"They're mining you, my dear," the Earth said. "They've brought you here to extract all the precious metals they can find, and they won't stop until they've ripped out your whole heart. It's not very nice, but I never could teach them proper manners."

"Oh no!" Desi said. Already, the Earthlings were shooting more and more metal back to Earth. "What do I do? How do I stop them?"

"I'm sorry, dear," the Earth said. "I never figured that out. They seemed harmless at first, but more and more showed up, until I was completely covered. Before I knew it, they'd ripped out all of my metals. That's why they're mining you."

At first, hearing that made Desi felt pretty bad. But something niggled at the back of her mind. She thought real hard about what the Earth told her, and got an idea.

Desi gathered all the strength she had. She put together all the will and gumption she had. Then, bit by bit, she began to move.

"Huh?" the Earthlings said. "What is it doing?"

"Oh no!"

"It's on a collision course for Earth!"

"Don't do it, little one!" the Earth cried. "There must be another way!"

"Don't worry," said Desi. "You're gonna be just fine. The little guys living all over you will make sure of that!"

And indeed, even at that moment, the Earthlings were launching their own plan. One after another, they launched more bits of metal into space, landing on Desi one by one. Paf! Paf! Paf! the Earthlings' creations all landed on Desi. And then - they exploded, and sent Desi right out of Earth's orbit!

Desi had three big new radioactive dimples now. But she didn't mind. They reminded her of her new friend, Earth. And in her new orbit, she could swing by Earth every year!

THE END

[pleasingwords]

The Arjun Saga

Arjun was celebrating his thirtieth birthday, surrounded by family and friends, when his enemies came for him.

They all tried to defend him. Rich shouted at the dark-clad attackers as they burst into Arjun's kitchen; Natalie and her husband Piotr tried to block their paths. Divya, always the quick-witted one, picked up a pan and whalloped a man foolish enough to turn his back on her.

But against foes armed with automatic weapons and dark sorcery, all this availed little. A terrible scream echoed through space and time, a portal opened, and the dark-clad men rushed Arjun into it, still startled and holding a whisk.

One reappeared a moment later to grab the man Natalie had brained and drag him into the portal. Then they were gone, and all was silence.

-

Arjun lost track of how long his enemies spent trying to break him down. Over and over again, they demanded he surrender his occult knowledge, secrets gleaned from old tomes and older sages. Arjun gave them nothing.

"You fools," he said at last, frustrated beyond the point of common sense. "Were I a great wizard, would I still be trapped in this prison? Had I found the secret of immortality, would I fear your beatings and your guns?"

His interrogators paused to consider this. One, cradling his head tenderly in one hand, nodded in reluctant agreement.

Convinced of his uselessness, or perhaps simply trying another tactic to break Arjun's will, his enemies threw him into the common population of their prison. Lumped in with everyday criminals of every stripe, Arjun spent weeks consigned to menial labor and boredom. Eventually, though - perhaps through an oversight - Arjun was assigned to the kitchen. From there, it was only a few short hours until the whole complex was sent into a supernaturally potent food coma, and Arjun was free to go.

Where he would go, and what he would do next, Arjun was not sure.

---

Arjun was twenty-three when he first considered becoming a chef.

"You'd be good at it!", his girlfriend Natalie said. "You've got the patience, the creativity, the love of food..."

"Are you just saying that because you want me to start making you curries?" Arjun asked, poking Natalie teasingly.

"Obviously I want you to make me curries!" Natalie said, deftly twisting away from Arjun's finger. "But I'm serious, too. I know what I'm going to be doing when I graduate. Do you?"

"Of course I do," Arjun said. "I'm in my fifth year of pre-med. What do you think I'm going to do?"

Natalie sighed.

"What was the last time you felt cut-out to be a doctor?" she asked. "Or even wanted to be one?"

"I just - " Arjun said haltingly. "I just don't want people to die. Not if I can help it. Not ever."

Natalie pulled back and looked at Arjun appraisingly, as if seeing him for the first time.

"What is it?", Arjun said after a pause. "You're making me feel a little uncomfortable..."

Natalie responded very carefully. "What if I told you there was another way?"

---

Arjun was seven years old when he found the bird by the side of the road.

He'd never seen a creature like it before. He wasn't some dumb little kid, he'd seen lots of birds before, all kinds of birds - but this one was different. Its feathers shimmered with a glorious iridescence, its crest practically blazed red. And it wasn't moving.

Divya screamed when Arjun brought it home. "Ewwwwww!" she said. "Gross! Why are you bringing a dead bird into the house?"

Dead?

Something as beautiful as this, just - gone? done? Over?

It was unjust. It was wrong. It should not happen. Something like this shouldn't be allowed to just *die*.

Nothing should.