Riisi stood, eyes shut tight. His breath came in ragged, stuttering gasps.
With a hot exhale of fetid breath, the ehrekh stepped forward and grabbed Uhammad’s shoulder. Uhammad used every bit of willpower within himself to remain still. To do otherwise would mean death.
Then Riisi faced the beast and touched its arm.
The ehrekh released a pent-up breath like a winded bull and turned intelligent eyes to young Riisi. Long moments passed as the two stared at one another, but never did Uhammad think the beast was preparing to do harm to Riisi. Slowly, ever so slowly, the creature’s posture softened and it released its hold on Uhammad’s shoulder.
And then it stepped back and kneeled.
With Uhammad at the rudder and Riisi standing nearby, their cutter neared the final rise before Sanandira. The ship had been horribly silent since they’d buried Jalaad at the top of Irhüd’s Finger. Uhammad had become so used to his friend’s ramblings that his life seemed empty without them. But at least Jalaad had gone to a better place. He may have lived a life that had little worth singing about, but in his death he had launched a story that would touch a thousand others.
Finally Sanandira’s convoluted skyline came into view. Uhammad practically breathed in the crescent of docks in the harbor, the round dhobas and tall temples, and in the center of it all, the bazaar, where everything had started.
“Once we reach the city, my prince, there will be no turning back.”
Riisi turned to Uhammad and smiled. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
He was probably right. They’d sent the ehrekh after Sulamin’s warship. Uhammad had questioned the wisdom of such a move, but Riisi felt it was too dangerous for news of their escape to reach Harrahd so soon. Better for the king to wonder what had happened to his men and send more resources to scour the desert while Riisi cemented his position in Sanandira.
Uhammad had thought it too tall a task for the ehrekh, but Riisi proved wise beyond his years. He had communicated with the ehrekh without speaking and told it to disable the ship, to let the men sit and use their food and water, to strike only if they tried to make their way in skiffs or on foot.
Their plan, Uhammad realized, would become no easier once they landed in Sanandira. They needed to contact sympathizers to Riisi’s dead father and mother. And here the king’s dealings with Sanandira would bite him like a wounded viper. His stance toward the desert city had been overbearing for too long. With the ehrekh and the fyndrenna, men would flock to their cause.
The uprising would not occur tomorrow, nor the next day. But some day not far from now, it would.
And the king would fall.
Acknowledgements
My short fiction was helped by many different people. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my friends on the Online Writing Workshop. All those folks who critted me, and who allowed me to crit them, you have my thanks. You helped me so much to further my craft from something utterly raw and clumsy to (what I hope is) readable.
Kij Johnson, a master of the craft, had a big effect on my short fiction. It was in her seminars at GenCon those many years ago that spurred me to try my hand at the short form. Eventually I came to appreciate its subtleties. Thank you, Kij.
Many, many thanks go out to several different editors. The first go to Kerrie Hughes, John Helfers, and Jean Rabe, who included me in several different DAW anthologies. Thanks for your belief in me and my stories and for your guidance in the editorial process. To Edmund Shubert, my thanks for seeing promise in several of my stories for inclusion in Intergalactic Medicine Show, and for your careful attention to each story as they moved toward publication. And to Scott Andrews, thank you for your very detailed back and forth on “From the Spices of Sanandira.” You’ve a good eye, sir, and I appreciate your bending it to my poor prose. To Marty Halpern, you have my thanks for lending your keen eye to the three new stories, and then applying it again to the entire ms. This collection would have been riddled with errors without your help.
To Evgeni Maloshenkov, my thanks for doing such a wonderful job on all of the interior art. And to Sang Han for the stunning cover art, thank you for having such a wonderful imagination and incredible talent.
And last, but certainly not least, thank you to my wife, Joanne, for creating the space and time for me to write. Without that, I could never have created these many worlds.
Kickstarter Acknowledgements
There are many people who had a direct influence in making this dream a reality. Namely, those who participated in the Kickstarter for this story collection. Thank you for all your support and enthusiasm.
Khanjar
Douglas Hulick, Michael Benicek, Holly McDowell, Kris Dikeman, Gregory A. Wilson, Marc Tassin, Brent Longstaff, Ken Wong, Felipe Wirth Quiney, Brad Kelly, Mitchell J. Holthaus, Olli Toivanen, Jocelyn Koehler, Matt Fitzgerald, Gregory P Rheam, G. W. Reynolds, John Helfers, Yaron Davidson, Sam Trevenen, Markus R. Mosbech, Angela Rivera - Ghilbrae, Brian Pettera, Christine L. Hardy
Kindjal
Wooz, Adam Rakunas, Bryan Thomas Schmidt, Shauna Roberts, Paul Weimer, Michael R. Underwood, Michael “The Mad Hatter” Pye, Christopher M. Cevasco, Robert Joseph Levy, Casey Fiesler, Ty, John Klima, Jean Rabe, Carol Klees-Starks, Jeff Hotchkiss, Derrick Eaves, Justin Landon, Doug Sturtevant, Mihir Wanchoo, JPKangas, CEnnis, Hero Games, Margaret M. St. John, Shaun Young, Loretta Wilkinson, Felice Kuan, Jerolyn, David & Asher Sackman, Jon Hansen
Longsword
Livia Llewellyn, Steve Drew, Paul Genesse, Keith West, Nick Sharps, Keith Kahla, Gopakumar Sethuraman, Brenda Cooper, Joel Wenham, Scott Ladewig, Sean Williams, David M. Johnson, Caroline Kierstead, Eric Toczek, John Osmond, Derek Brine, Randy Cole, Steve Hick, Jeremy Kenneth Colton Chamberlin, Chris McLaren, Michael Tynan, tkl, Jeremy Kear, Shahid Hasan, Sally Qwill Janin, Christopher D. Sandford, Janahan Thiru, mundanename, David L Dressman
Shashka
Ryan Leduc, Dain Eaton, Rob Ziegler, Ian Wolfe, Mark Aaron Smith, Matthew Price, Thean See Xien, David Lars Chamberlain, Robin Burzan, Nico “The Chosen One” Kolstee, S.R. Paradigm
Shamshir
Brad M. Saenz, Michael Stackpole, Eldritch, Terry of Wexford, Timothy Noel, Jason Chen, Jason Chen (that’s right; Jason went in twice!)
Berdische
Bill O’Connor
(who I thank mightily for working with me
to name Mikaella in “Prima”)
About the Author
Bradley P. Beaulieu is the author of The Lays of Anuskaya, a tale that begins in The Winds of Khalakovo, continues in The Straits of Galahesh, and concludes with The Flames of Shadam Khoreh. In addition to being an L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Award winner, Brad’s stories have appeared in various publications, including Realms of Fantasy, Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, Writers of the Future 20, and several anthologies from DAW Books. For more, please visit www.quillings.com.
The adventure begins in The Winds of Khalakovo…
Among inhospitable and unforgiving seas stands Khalakovo, a mountainous archipelago of seven islands, its prominent eyrie stretching a thousand feet into the sky. Serviced by windships bearing goods and dignitaries, Khalakovo’s eyrie stands at the crossroads of world trade. But all is not well in Khalakovo. Conflict has erupted between the ruling Landed, the indigenous Aramahn, and the fanatical Maharraht, and a wasting disease has grown rampant over the past decade. Now, Khalakovo is to play host to the Nine Dukes, a meeting which will weigh heavily upon Khalakovo’s future.
When an elemental spirit attacks an incoming windship, murdering the Grand Duke and his retinue, Prince Nikandr, heir to the scepter of Khalakovo, is tasked with finding the child prodigy believed to be behind the spirit summoning. However, Nikandr discovers that the boy is an autistic savant who may hold the key to lifting the blight that has been sweeping the islands. Can the dukes, thirsty for revenge, be held at bay? Can Khalakovo be saved? The elusive answer drifts upon the Winds of Khalakovo…
The adventure conti
nues in The Straits of Galahesh…
West of the Grand Duchy of Anuskaya lies the Empire of Yrstanla, the Motherland. The Empire has lived at peace with Anuskaya for generations, but with political turmoil brewing and the wasting disease still rampant, opportunists from the mainland have begun to set their sights on the Grand Duchy, seeking to expand their empire.
Five years have passed since Prince Nikandr, heir to the scepter of Khalakovo, was tasked with finding Nasim, the child prodigy behind a deadly summoning that led to a grand clash between the armies of man and elder elemental spirits. Today, that boy has grown into a young man driven to understand his past—and the darkness from which Nikandr awakened him. Nikandr’s lover, Atiana, has become a Matra, casting her spirit forth to explore, influence, and protect the Grand Duchy. But when the Al-Aqim, long thought lost to the past, return to the islands and threaten to bring about indaraqiram—a change that means certain destruction for both the Landed and the Landless—bitter enemies must become allies and stand against the Al-Aqim’s horrific plans.
Can the Grand Duchy be saved? The answer lies hidden within the Straits of Galahesh…
The adventure concludes in The Flames of Shadam Khoreh…
Nearly two years after the harrowing events of The Straits of Galahesh, Atiana and Nikandr continue their long search for Nasim. The clues they find lead them to the desert wastes of the Gaji, where the fabled valley of Shadam Khoreh lies.
But all is not well. War has moved from the islands to the mainland, and the Grand Duchy knows its time may be limited if Yrstanla rallies its forces. Worse, the wasting disease and the rifts grow ever wider, threatening places that once thought themselves safe. The dukes believe their only hope may be to treat with the Haelish warriors to the west of Yrstanla, but Nikandr knows that the key is to find Nasim and a lost artifact known as the Atalayina.
Will Nikandr succeed and close the rifts once and for all? The answer lies deep within the Flames of Shadam Khoreh.
Strata is a stand-alone novella by two Writers of the Future Award winners.
It’s the middle of the twenty-second century. Earth’s oil and gas reserves have been spent, but humankind’s thirst for energy remains unquenched. Vast solar mining platforms circle the upper atmosphere of the sun, drawing power lines up from the stellar interior and tight-beaming the energy back to Earth. For most of the platforms’ teeming masses, life is hard, cramped—and hot. Most dream of a return Earthside, but a two-way ticket wasn’t part of the benefits package, and a Sun-Earth trip doesn’t come cheap.
Kawe Ndechi is luckier than most. He’s a gifted rider—a skimmer pilot who races the surface of the sun’s convection zone—and he needs only two more wins before he lands a ticket home. The only trouble is, Kawe’s spent most of his life on the platforms. He’s seen the misery, and he’s not sure he’s the only one who deserves a chance at returning home.
That makes Smith Pouslon nervous. Smith once raced the tunnels of fire himself, but now he’s a handler, and his rider, Kawe, is proving anything but easy to handle. Kawe’s slipping deeper and deeper into the Movement, but Smith knows that’s a fool’s game. His own foray into the Movement cost him his racing career—and nearly his life—and he doesn’t want Kawe to throw everything away for a revolt that will never succeed.
One sun. Two men. The fate of a million souls.
Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories Page 44