Stories of Hope

by Aussie Speculative Fiction

  “We’re ready to go.”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  “Oh come on now, don’t give me that defeatist garbage. We have an exit now. You might as well take it.”

  She laughed at him, “That’s not it. Wait here a second.” Before he could respond, she had run off into the lab.

  She returned quickly with something in her hand.

  “What have you found now?”

  “Seeds.”

  “Why seeds?”

  She smiled. “When we find the lost continent, we’ll need to grow some food.”

  Con thought about answering but decided he didn’t need to. By the time he’d made up his mind it was too late anyway, Marcelle was already half way up to the hatch.

  Con took hold of the cord and climbed.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: S. John Davis is a Gippsland based author, musician and occasional cheese eater. His debut novel is due out ‘any day now’* but for now he makes his shorter works available from his facebook page. http://facebook.com/sjohndavis

  *Any day now may actually be longer than previously indicated.

  Just a Little Tail by Neen Cohen

  SELINE BOWED, SWALLOWING down the lump in her throat, as she stepped over the threshold and began the long walk toward the raised platform at the other end of the room.

  The room was nothing she could ever have imagined. Even in the movies back home, she had never seen anything nearing this size.

  The pillars that bordered around her, holding up a balcony filled with onlookers, were larger than the tallest skyscrapers she had seen back home. They glistened with light that poured through the thick clear ceiling. She wasn’t sure if it were glass or diamond or some other material this planet used as readily as Earth used air. But it was beautiful, sending light dancing across the thick pillars and the smooth floor in front of her alike.

  Stepping in time with the tattoo of her own banging heart she reached the raised platform sooner than she had expected. She bowed again to the entity perched on the black obsidian throne.

  “You understand there are no guarantees?” Her voice echoed around the cavernous room, like a soft and gentle breeze caressing Seline’s skin. She had met the Caudate race before but she was still entranced by their shining green scales and their wide reptilian eyes. They stared into her soul, giving her a sense of belonging and a desire to open herself without hesitation or secret.

  “I am willing to take the chance.”

  “As are we.” She stood and towered over Seline.

  SELINE WOKE WITH A start and began to cry. It wasn’t the usual tears of desperation that had plagued her for years now.

  Eight years. Eight long years. Her body had been ravaged by the treatments, all to hold a child in her arms.

  But the tears that sprang to her eyes were accompanied by a smile that soon turned into an uncontrollable laugh.

  She didn’t remember much of the procedure. Shiana, Queen of the Caudate, had kept her promise, taking away the pain and agony that their fertility processes would inflict on Seline’s human body.

  The months flew by and dragged simultaneously. Panic and anxiety sat side by side with excitement and joy.

  No one knew how long the gestation would be. The pairing of the two species had never been done before. The dangers were real.

  “You are glowing.” Seline jumped, her hand instinctively covering her extended stomach before she saw the wavering image of Shiana standing in the kitchen bench. The projection was proportioned to Seline’s own height and the image looked wrong. The orange Seline had been cutting up looked like a blockage in an X-ray of Shiana. The projection was doing its best to counteract the unexpected objects, but Seline had to bite the insides of her cheeks not to laugh.

  “Your highness.” Seline bowed as best she could, smiling at how ridiculous she must look.

  “Our child is ready.”

  “As in ready ready?”

  Shiana’s head cocked to the side unsure of what the human meant.

  “Sorry. Wow, it’s sooner than I thought. I will head to the hospital now.”

  Shiana dipped her head and was gone.

  Seline stared at the orange. She was still hungry, but the anxiety overtook that and everything else.

  Her bag was packed, it had been for weeks. But still, it was so soon.

  The hospital was a blur of confused doctors unsure why they rushed for a woman giving birth. It was just another day, but at the very sight of Seline, they cleared space and rushed her directly to a theatre room.

  Seline looked at the ceiling, the mirror reflecting what was happening to the lower half of her body. It was a bizarre sensation.

  She had read about out of body experiences from the history archives in the library and wondered if this was what they meant.

  Every minute ticked by too slowly. The scalpel cut through her flesh although she felt nothing.

  The first cry was the sound of waves crashing against rocks, sending tears of joy running sideways down Seline’s temples. She could see her child.

  The five seconds it took for them to place the child, her child, on her chest was too long.

  Seline was laughing and crying, kissing the goop covered head of her babe as the child searched for her nipple, for sustenance and comfort.

  SELINE SAT UP IN HER hospital room. The nurses were nice but never quite sure who she was or why they needed to get out of the room as soon as they could.

  Seline didn’t care.

  It didn’t matter.

  None of those things mattered anymore.

  It was part of the Caudate self defence mechanism.

  Seline had been granted the ability to remember them, to remember her child.

  She couldn’t stop smelling her daughter’s head. It was fresh cut grass, and salty sea air. It was perfect and it was paradise.

  “Congratulations, Seline.”

  This time, it wasn’t a projection. Shiana wore the deep velvet red royal robes, and somehow still looked poised half bent, her head brushing the ceiling, as she stood at the end of Seline’s bed.

  “And to you, our Queen.”

  “May I see?”

  “Of course.”

  Seline handed over the small wrapped bundle, though her fingers itched to take her back instantly. She watched as Shiana unwrapped their child.

  “She is very human looking.”

  Seline registered the sadness in Shiana’s voice.

  “Almost.”

  Seline reached out her hands and Shiana handed her back, Seline leaving the blanket in Shiana’s fingers. Shiana’s smile spread across her geometric scaled face as she saw the back of the child.

  “Ah. She is without doubt the product of both races. She will be raised on our planet, with you heralded as the saviour of our race.”

  “She is the hope for all of us.”

  “Rest. We will return soon to bring you both home.”

  Seline held her child close to her chest, feeling the small heart race against her own. Her fingers traced the deep green scales that ran down her daughter’s spine and followed beyond where a mere earthling’s back would end.

  “It’s just a little tail my dear child, but it is the hope of a great race, and the hope of your mama.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: NEEN Cohen is an LGBTQI and speculative fiction author. She has a Bachelor of Creative Industries and is a member of the Springfield Writers Group.

  Neen loves to roam cemeteries and botanic gardens and can be found writing while sitting against a tree or tombstone.

  Find out more: https://wordbubblessite.wordpress.com

  Dangerous January by L.J. Kendall

  ZEPHYN WOULD BE A YEAR old tomorrow.

  Tiptoeing through the echoing empty places, he left no trace in the dust built in slow aeons on strange onyx floors. He stirred no wind in the vacuum, as he stretched and turned and twisted between the claws that grasped, the teeth that ripped.

  For twelve months he had grown and studied and
practised, his senses softly unfurling like a cicada’s wings emerging from their ugly shell, delicate strands stretching out through Time and Space until they encompassed the light-sphere binding all Creation. Tomorrow, his mother Passali would die, her two year span of life reaching its end. Halfway through his own life now, Zephyn vowed to let no thread drop, to faithfully carry every last strand of the Real into the dawn of the new year. He would lose not a single precious thread that Passali had held safe and true in her stretch of the Great Journey.

  He hoped his own child would watch him, perhaps even with the same innocent wonder in which he had seen his mother take up the burden from her father at the moment of birth-in-death. He remembered gazing in wide-eyed awe at the wondrous, complex, ever-changing thing she had taken into her star-flung hands: mystery piled on mystery, its endless unrepeating variation making his heart soar even as he struggled to comprehend its beauty.

  Passali was old now, beginning to fracture and break apart. Zephyn held his breath in horror, feeling the shudder that was no shudder pass through the All, feeling the mute brute awareness of something amiss—until his mother’s feather-touch once more cradled All That Was in her invisible, shielding shroud. A chill passed through young Zephyn as he saw the old, cold claws flex and stretch, questing for the meal for which it so hungered, its heavy black chill snaking its own fractal path through Space and Time. Its very weight slowed his mother and dogged Zephyn’s steps, already making his muscles burn.

  And I don’t even hold the Burden yet! Anguish rose, choking him. How can I carry this fragile treasure a whole year, when my wings slow even now, before I take it up?

  But he could. A part of him knew it. A tiny part, a mere seed of knowing, that had passed from his mother’s father, to his mother, to him—that he would in turn pass to his own child at any moment now, as hours shrank to minutes, and minutes to seconds.

  Massive shadow claws stretched out as he finally reached his mother and eased the Burden from her, his limbs stretching out alongside hers through All That Was, and he felt Passali gasp in blessed relief, dying, as he took up the terrible precious gift—and at the same instant, his child, Wisp, was born.

  Zephyn, now a year old, felt joy surge through him. Putting his head down, he strode on through the vast dark.

  One year. Just one year, I need to last. I can do this. I must.

  And in innocent wonder, his daughter Wisp looked on.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: L. J. Kendall failed to drown on five separate occasions on Sydney’s northern beaches. He worked in the IT R&D field while extremely happily married for 30 years to an adventurous mediaeval scholar 22 years his senior until her death in 2014. He is currently trying to finish Lost Girl, volume #5 in his cross-genre sci-fi/fantasy series The Leeth Dossier, in time for the 2020 World Science Fiction Convention in Auckland. His author website is https://atoeintheoceanofbooks.com

  Hope by Carolyn Young

  MARK STOOD IN THE CORNER of the labour ward watching his wife’s contractions coming one after the other. He’d never felt so powerless. There was nothing he could do to ease her pain. Two years it had been since he’d last watched her labour, and even though he knew the result would be worth it, he couldn’t stop himself from pacing with worry.

  When their son had been born, Mark had tried everything the books suggested to make Amy more comfortable. He’d rubbed her back, but she’d pushed him away. She couldn’t stand being touched. He’d collected ice-chips for her, which melted to a watery puddle after she arched her back during an intense contraction, knocking over the cup. The cool cloths he’d placed on her forehead were removed and thrown across the room too. In the final stages, she’d reached for him, her nails digging deeply into the skin on his tattooed forearm. Those nails had hurt even more than getting the tattoo, but he knew it was nothing compared to the pain she was going through.

  It had all been worth it. When it was over, and he held his son for the first time, he remembered his tears dripping onto the soft blanket as tiny fingers wrapped around his own. He’d been overwhelmed with love and a desperate need to protect this beautiful little boy. Jack they’d called him, after his grandfather who they’d lost months earlier to cancer. Mark’s father would have loved Jack, if only they’d gotten to meet.

  Now, the midwives fussed over his wife, reassuring her with encouragement when she felt weak, checking her vital signs and assuring her all was going to plan. Nursing shifts finished and the faces of those in the room changed, but the quiet encouragement, love and comfort they brought to his wife filled him with gratitude.

  She was strong, that wife of his. Amy had been through so much, but nothing had defeated her. As obstacle after obstacle was thrown in her path, she’d pressed her lips together, gritted her teeth and soldiered on, just as she was doing today.

  He watched a tear trickle down her face as she looked into her mother’s eyes. He’d never really gotten along well with his mother-in-law, but Amy had insisted that she wanted her here this time and he couldn’t say no. Watching as Joan gently wiped Amy’s tears away, whispered in her ear and squeezed her hand he knew she’d made the right choice. Mothers always knew the right things to say and do during childbirth. Maybe it was the bond between mother and daughter. Maybe it was simply due to the fact she’d been through it herself, but he could see how her presence gave Amy strength.

  Amy screamed as the pushing started. It wouldn’t be long now. The nurses positioned her with Joan by her side. Mark felt like an outsider, watching from his corner. He wanted to feel those nails of hers pierce his arm, just like last time, but her hand was gripping her mother’s. It was her mother’s eyes she focussed on as she pushed to bring his child into the world, and it was her mother who urged her on.

  The baby’s hair was dark, just like Jack’s and he watched on as the rest of its head appeared. Shoulders appeared one by one, followed quickly by the rest of the baby, sliding out into the waiting hands of the midwife.

  “Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby girl,” the midwife said, wrapping a towel around his daughter and gently wiping the blood from her face.

  Wailing and squirming his daughter was placed in Amy’s arms as Mark watched the tears stream down her face and her body convulse with sobs. Joan’s arms wrapped around her, tears pouring down her own face.

  “She looks just like her father. Do you see it too?” she said once Amy’s sobs had eased.

  “I see it. I miss him so much, Mum.”

  “I know you do. Have you decided on a name for her?”

  “Hope Phoenix,” Amy said, looking down at their child. “Hope because she brings with her the hope for a better future, and Phoenix after her father.”

  “I never liked that phoenix tattoo on his arm, but it certainly fits. He’s been raised from the ashes to live again through Hope. Who would have known when we lost him that he’d left you this one last gift?”

  “I know he’s gone, but so many times today I’ve felt his presence. It’s like he’s in the room with us, making sure that we were okay.”

  “Maybe he was, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing Amy’s arm. “He was quite a man.”

  “I never thought you liked him,” Amy said.

  “He died protecting my grandson. Jack wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his bravery. I’ll always remember him as the hero he was. And now he’s gone, it’s my job to protect you all. It’s the least I can do after the sacrifice he made.”

  Mark watched as Amy hugged her mother. Maybe the old bat wasn’t so bad after all. He felt himself being pulled, back to the beyond. Just before he forced himself to turn away, he took one last look at his daughter. Hope. That was fitting. He had to leave Amy, but he’d left a part of himself with her. He’d left her with Hope.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Carolyn Young is a single mum living in Melbourne, Australia. Most of her writing falls under the speculative fiction banner with Young Adult dystopian as her main focus. She has several short stories appearing in both Australian
and international publications but also enjoys dabbling in poetry.

  Her spare time is spent reading, writing and dreaming of the day she can move to the country and write full-time.

  As a writer, she credits any and all success to her cat, who always knows the right keys to walk over to inspire creativity.

  Follow Carolyn at https://www.facebook.com/authorcarolynyoung

  The Dawning of Spring by Stacey Jaine McIntosh

  IT WAS THE DAY OF THE Spring Equinox, a time when new life is bursting at the seams and the whole world seems a little bit brighter. At least it would have if Mercy was not bound by archaic rules and regulations stating that she, at eighteen years old, would become the next Queen of the Seelie Court.

  But she wouldn’t be ruling alone. No, Locke would be by her side.

  Mercy had met Locke three hundred and sixty-six days ago. At least that’s how much time had passed by human standards. Here in Arcadia, time took on a much different meaning. She liked to keep track of how time travelled in the human world in case she was ever able to return. She missed the simplicity of the small town mentality, but most of all she missed her old life. Before her dad—her real dad—had come along and ruined everything. He’d tried to get custody and would have won, had it not been for her mother using Arcadia to her advantage and subjecting him—a mortal—to the three trials. He’d survived, and because of that, he’d been thrown into the dungeon of the Summer Palace as further punishment, only to die two years later.

  She hadn’t mourned him. It was hard to mourn a father you didn’t know. Instead, she’d focused on living her life and getting used to life in Arcadia as a princess and heir to the throne. It wasn’t an easy task. At seventeen, almost eighteen, she should have been worrying about school exams and prom. Instead, she was worrying about court politics and whether or not Arianna was secretly planning to usurp her.