by Anthology
It wasn’t filtering into the rock. And it was no longer red. It was silver, like stars. Remembering that day with the chicken bone, he dipped his finger into the shimmering liquid, stroked the residue from it onto the white stone floor and saw he’d formed the letter M. Before he’d had time to question it, he found himself writing another letter: U. Then a D and an I. And suddenly he knew.
He dragged himself to his feet, forced his lungs to inflate and then shouted, “I am Mudiwa of Shona tribe and I give Rutendo!”
Silence. Neither an echo nor a drumbeat inside his head. He took a deep breath, realized his chest no longer hurt.
“Tinashe,” he whispered, suddenly terrified that his earlier reasoning had been correct, that she had abandoned him. And then a voice invaded the void that Chaps’ beat had left.
I am here. In the pool, Mudiwa.
Half slipping, half scrabbling, he made his way over the rock to the water’s edge and dived into its welcoming embrace.
Deeper, Mudiwa. Dive deeper.
His ears popped. Pressure built against his chest. His lungs wanted to implode.
Breathe. Soon we will be together. Our Forever.
I can’t!
You can.
And then her arms were round him, embracing him, loving him. Silky. Gossamer. Perfection.
She smiled. That smile he had come to know less than an hour earlier was even prettier in reality. She pressed her breasts against him. Firm, fourteen-year-old breasts.
My husband, you are as young and handsome as the day I first laid eyes upon you. She giggled, and he fancied he saw small air bubbles drifting in the water. And then she held out a hand. It was bundled into a tiny fist. Slowly, she opened her fingers and, nestled in her palm, the piece of limestone he had tried to throw across the pool.
Your soul. I caught it, saved it for you. Again, she giggled.
This time he did see tiny air bubbles falling to the surface. Iridescent colors scattered through water, pure and wonderful. I thought you’d abandoned me, our Forever.
I’ve waited, always, but you filled your head with so much studying that you forgot your chiShona. She smiled through tears that mingled with the blue water. But now we are together, I, too, give rutendo.
Kusatenda uroyi. He grinned.
Ingratitude is tantamount to witchcraft.
He wrapped his body round hers and, just like the man of the Shona carving, leant his head upon hers, lovingly, protectively.
Arms intertwined, they swam up to the depths. Depths he hoped no-one would explore.
Ever.
The Blackness Within edited by Gill Ainsworth
From Africa to Australasia, from Europe to the US, take a terrifying journey led by world-renowned and up-and-coming authors of horror. See how Moccus, the Celtic God of fecundity, brings His barbaric brutality to the twenty-first century. Experience the nightmare of an apostle unable to live up to His teachings in “Dreaming” and, in “Without Mercy,” witness the torment of those who can. But it doesn’t stop there. Even hundreds of years after Mocuss’s death, His savage reign continues for those who dare to question, as you will discover in “For They Are As Beasts” and “Abattoir Blues.”
Thirteen stories–some menacingly dark, others violent and rapacious–will show you a future where death is a blessing.
Table of Contents:
Introduction: The New God, The New Order—Gill Ainsworth
“Secrets of Fatima”—Steven L. Shrewsbury
“Without Mercy”—Lucas Pederson
“The Messiah of Mincemeat”—S. Clayton Rhodes
“Dreaming”—Brenton Tomlinson
“Daughter of God”—Maxwell Peterson
“The Free Poor”—Mark Grundy
“Bad Meat”—Michael Keyton
“Chain of Hearts”—Eric Gregory
“Big Game”—Conrad Zero
“Dance of the Psychopomps”—Joshua McCune
“Song-Ji and the Wolf”—Paul Williams
“For They Are as Beasts”–Camille Alexa
“Abattoir Blues”—Geoffrey W. Cole
“The Holy Meal”—Moccus Meats hlc
http://www.apexbookcompany.com/the-blackness-within-stories-of-the-pagan-god-moccus/
LOTTERY
Gene O’Neill
Gene O’Neill is best known as a multi-award nominated writer of science fiction, fantasy, and horror fiction.
O’Neill’s professional writing career began after completing the Clarion West Writers Workshop in 1979. Since that time, over 100 of his works have been published. His short story work has appeared in Cemetery Dance Magazine, Twilight Zone Magazine, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and many more.
O’Neill has had many occupations besides writing including postal worker, contract specialist for AAFES, college basketball player, amateur boxer, United States Marine, right-of-way agent, and vice president of a small manufacturing plant. He also holds two degrees from California State University, Sacramento and University of Minnesota. He currently writes full time and lives in the Napa Valley with his wife, Kay.
In 2009, he won the Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a Collection for Taste of Tenderloin (Apex Publications). That makes him popular in the Apex offices.
“Lottery” first appeared on the Horror World website.
—§—
The first hard freeze hit the valley just after fall harvest, initiating the painting of the leaves of the great highland forests with brilliant autumn splashes of color. But the cold snap also triggered the beginning of the human changes. Then, three days of constant snow, as farmers and ranchers in the outlying regions of the Valley packed up for the trek into the Village. Most had arrived by late Sunday afternoon.
All day Monday, as required by long tradition, most of the Valley’s eligible women registered at the Community Hall. An Elder separated cards with numbers printed on both halves, giving one to the female recipient and storing the duplicate in a strongbox; a second Elder checked names off the master roll. By Tuesday afternoon, even the last of the female stragglers was accounted for, the roll completely checked off—forty-four numbers handed out this year. The snowy weather had completely cleared by Wednesday afternoon, but there was a somber wariness palpable in the chilly foggy air hanging over the village like a fallen cloud.
After nightfall, the entire village made their way down and assembled at the Community Hall, taking their places on the cold folding chairs. Marek and Krasna had found two seats on the end of the last row.
The crowd all looked up respectively at the five sober-faced e Village Elders sitting stiffly in their store-bought black suits and evenly spaced along a fold-up table bearing only the locked strongbox and a gavel. Even the youngest baby lay quietly in her mother’s arms, all the older children equally subdued, perhaps sensing, even if they didn’t understand, the serious nature of the event. The minutes ticked by and the crowded room remained eerily quiet as the last folks finally settled in; the younger husbands and boyfriends naturally clutched their eligible loved one’s hands tightly in their sweaty grips.
At 8:00 p.m., the Head Elder rapped his gavel and said simply: “It is time to make our annual Autumn Lottery selection.” He turned to the Elder seated in front of the strongbox, who had been picked earlier in a private draw: “Lev?”
Lev nodded, took out a key, and unlocked the strongbox. Then, he reached in, and withdrew one of the printed cards. Without looking at the number he handed the card to the Head Elder. The audience held its collective breath, as the Head Elder read the number and announced it in a solemn voice: “Thirty-five.”
For a moment no one moved, or even dared to look about to see who had been selected.
Back in the last row, Marek cried out silently: Oh, my God. It was his Krasna’s number! He was too dumbfounded to speak, couldn’t even face his sweetheart, who hadn’t moved a muscle, sitting stiffly beside him. But she knew.
A few moments ticked by; then, af
ter carefully consulting of the master roll, the Head Elder cleared his throat and explained: “The Lottery pick this year, number thirty-five, belongs to Krasna.”
Muffled murmuring…
A few in the crowd ventured to turn and look around, their gazes searching out where Marek and Krasna sat in the last row. But the two continued to sit in silence, stoically looking forward, as the seated crowd finally began to slowly arise and slip by on their way out of the Hall, most averting their eyes away from Marek and Krasna.
Still stunned, Marek finally shook his head, took a deep breath, and whispered: “It isn’t fair. We are so young, strong, and just beginning. Why couldn’t it have been one of the older women, even one of the widows? Someone who’d raised a family, lived a full life?” His eyes were blurry—
Nevertheless, Marek finally stood. It was his sole responsibility to take Krasna down the street to the MedCenter for the procedures that would further enable her transition. She rose and bravely followed him out and down the street without even a murmur of protest. Only a tiny tear froze on her cheek, giving away her true feelings.
He was proud of her.
Two hours later, after the procedure were completed, Marek guided his red-haired beauty home to their cottage. Only then did she look at him and with absolutely no irony in her voice, she whispered: “Regardless of whatever happens tomorrow, I love you.”
Hoarsely, he replied: “And I you, my darling.”
Inside, after the stove was properly stoked up, but before the cold room was warmed much, they shrugged off their winter wear, all their clothes—even their underwear—staring at each other’s youthful nakedness, panting geysers of moist steam from their noses and open mouths.
They kissed passionately.
Then, they fell together on the bed, and made frantic love.
Kissing wetly, gasping, clinging, sticky thumping, and moaning fiercely. They were warm and sweaty now. But still it went on and on with a frenzied edge, almost as if it were their last opportunity to ever make love to each other again…
Indeed, it was.
They came for Krasna in the early hours after midnight long before daybreak; and they took her off to the security of the Stockade to insure her safety during the final stages of the Transformation.
Of course that was the last time Marek was allowed to see Krasna in her normal state. At the door of the cottage, she lingered in his arms; and he wiped the tiny tears from her cheeks, whispering his eternal love for her; the two now kissing ever so tenderly.
They finally had to roughly pull the lovers apart.
Clutched in her keepers’ arms, Krasna shouted back over her shoulder as they forcibly drug her away: “I’ll love you forever, Marek. No matter what.”
All he could manage was a wave at her back, too choked up to even speak.
As was customary, and despite his unsettled grieving feelings, Marek took the herbal cocktail; and he was finally able to nap through the entire late afternoon. He knew it was best for him, because it was important to maintain his strength. Tonight would be an extremely difficult physical time.
They came for Marek shortly before 8:00 p.m.
His heart was pounding, the blood rushing through his veins, and his bare chest sweaty despite the icy evening temperature.
Most of the village was assembled as spectators in a tight cluster down by the Stockade. All the children and women and ineligible men. The younger eligible men remained separated from the larger group. They waited patiently for Marek and the final stages of the Transformation…
At last, the moon began to edge up over the jagged, indigo mountains to the east, first peeking through the Devil’s Mouth—
And Marek felt the beginning of the last phases of the Change gripping him—the strength, the power claiming his altered body, most of his human perceptions and feelings blunted now, but his senses becoming even more acute.
The autumn moon was completely up, full and silvery…and triggering the final stage of the Transformation—both female and male.
They released her from the Stockade, the small, sleek, reddish-grey creature; and after a parting furtive glance over her shoulder at the assembled crowd, she immediately dashed off on all fours into the countryside to the west, heading for the ultimate shelter and safety, if she could make the hardwood forest before they caught her.
Fully transformed now, he glanced up…and howled fiercely at the full moon.
Dropping his gaze, he looked across the glistening snow at the fleeing reddish creature and growled ferociously from deep in his throat, in the full grip of the bloodlust. Grrrrrr. Even at this distance, her she-smell flared his nostrils.
Then, enraged, he bounded off strongly, the huge, fierce, alpha male, leading the snapping, barking, hungry pack after the fleeing vixen.
They caught her a few yards from the edge of the western forest, and left only a wet crimson stain on the snow.
(For Leo and his brave mom and dad)
If you enjoyed Gene’s story, then you might enjoy his collection of dark fantasy TASTE OF TENDERLOIN from Apex Publications
●Winner of the 2009 Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a Collection.
●Monster Librarian Top 10 of ’09 Pick.
Eight stories of dark science fiction and fantasy weave a path through the underbelly of San Francisco’s most notorious district in Taste of Tenderloin by Gene O’Neill. Best known for his strong sense of place and uniquely vibrant characters, O’Neill brings the gritty underside of the city to life with eight interwoven stories of broken lives, missed dreams, and all that can go wrong with both reality and fantasy among the down and out. The city itself opens wide to swallow all comers with the temptation of its secrets and sins, while O’Neill brings dignity and humanity to a set of characters often overlooked in both society and fiction.
Available today from Apex Publications
http://www.apexbookcompany.com
CERBO EN VITRA UJO
Mary Robinette Kowal
Mary Robinette Kowal ranks as one of the most creative and secretly twisted authors in sci-horror. Her achievements in just the past few years include winning the Campbell Award for best new writer, earning a Hugo Award nomination for her short story “Evil Robot Monkey” and seeing the release of her novel Shades of Milk and Honey (Tor Books). Her short fiction has appeared in Apex Magazine, Asimov’s, Clarkesworld Magazine, and many more.
“Cerbo en Vitra Ujo” first appeared in the Stoker Award-nominated anthology Aegri Somnia (Apex Publications). I had invited her into the anthology after a frightening experience involving Mary’s attic, skittering puppets, and darkness. I still don’t like to talk about it…
—§—
Grete snipped a diseased branch off her Sunset-Glory rosebush like she was a body harvester looking for the perfect part. Behind the drone of the garden's humidifiers, she caught a woosh-snick as the airlock door opened. Her boyfriend barreled around Mom's prize Emperor artichoke. Something was wrong.
The whites showed around Kaj's remarkable eyes, a blue-green so iridescent they seemed to dull all the plants around them. "Mom and Dad got me a Pass to a down-planet school!"
The blood congealed in her veins. Kaj would leave her. Grete forced a smile. "That's the outer limit!"
"I didn't even know they'd applied. Fairview Academy—game design." His perfect teeth flashed like sunshine against the ink of space. "It's wacking crazed. Should've been you, you're a better hack than me."
"I'm already entitled to school." Grete winced as the words left her mouth. Like he didn't know that. He was the middle of five children, way past the Banwith Station family allowance. She picked up the pruning sheers to hide the shake in her hands. How would she live without Kaj? "So, I guess you got packing to do and stuff."
"They provide uniforms. All I'm taking is my pod with music and books. Zero else." Kaj slid his arm around her waist and laced his long, delicate fingers through hers. "And I want to spend every moment till launch with y
ou."
She loved him so much, it hurt. Grete leaned her head against him, burning the feel of his body into her memory. She breathed in the musky smell of his sweat and kissed his neck, sampling the salt on his skin.
After a moment, Kaj hung a chain around her neck. The metal tags hanging from it were still warm from his body.
"What?"
"Dogtags, like they used in the oldwars. I put all my bios on there so you'd remember me."
"Kaj Lorensen, don't think I could forget you."
But if he was away at school, he might forget her. She studied her rosebush and freed the most perfect rose with her sheers. She held it out to him, suddenly shy.
He kissed the rose and then her palm. Grete sank into his gaze, lost in the blue-green of his eyes.
Grete buzzed the Lorensen cubby and waited as the comunit scanned her retina for i.d. If her mom knew how to hack into scanner records, Grete would get major grief for skipping school, but she couldn't stand the waiting anymore. Around her, the kids who weren't entitled to school played a game of tag in the corridor. She watched to see if any of Kaj's younger sibs were there.
The door hissed open. Kaj's mother, belly starting to round with another pregnancy, glared at Grete. "What."
"Sorry, the address I have for Kaj doesn't respond." A month. She'd pinged him and waited. Pinged his mom, and waited. She'd even asked the counselor at her school, but he had never even heard of Fairview Academy. Grete was tired of waiting.
Ms. Lorensen's eyes were as flat and grey as her voice. "You leave him alone. You want to mess this up for him?"
"No, ma'am. I just miss him."
"Maybe he doesn't miss you." The door hissed shut.
Grete stared at the mute door for a moment, and then started looking for Kaj's sibs, hoping they would know how to contact him. The older two would be in school, which was where Grete should be, but Kaj's younger sibs were not entitled.