Fantasy Scroll Magazine Issue #6

by Robert Reed

  Fantasy Scroll Magazine

  Speculative Fiction - Issue #6 - April 2015

  Featuring works by Alexander Danner, Beth Cato, Brynn MacNab, David Steffen,

  Erica L. Satifka, Ian Creasey, Jaymi Mizuno, Kurt Hunt, Robert Reed

  This collection is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editorial Team

  Iulian Ionescu, Editor-in-Chief

  Frederick Doot, Managing Editor

  Michelle Muller, Editor

  First Readers: M.E. Garber, Jennifer McGinnis, Alex Hurst, Hamilton Perez, Curtis Jefferson

  Cover Art: Franklin Chan

  Published by Fantasy Scroll Press, LLC

  New York, NY

  © Copyright 2015. All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Fantasy Scroll Press LLC Publishing at Smashwords

  ISBN #978-0-9916619-5-4

  ISSN #2333-4932

  www.FantasyScrollMag.com

  Fantasy Scroll Magazine Issue #6

  April, 2015

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Fiction

  "Raven's Dream" - Robert Reed

  "Jenny is Killing Turtles Again" - Alexander Danner

  "The House of Ninety-Nine Secrets" - Kurt Hunt

  "The Adventures of Captain Contempt in Mixed Media Installations" - Ian Creasey

  "My Brother's Keeper" - Beth Cato

  "Hand of God" - Erica L. Satifka

  "Meat" - David Steffen

  "Fortune's Dance" - Jaymi Mizuno

  "The Nixie's Rival" - Brynn MacNab

  Departments

  Interview with Award Winning Author Robert Reed

  Interview with Author Erica Satifka

  Interview with Award Winning Editor Ellen Datlow

  Artist Spotlight: Franklin Chan

  Book Review: The Grace of Kings (Ken Liu)

  Book Review: Half The World (Joe Abercrombie)

  : Movie Review: 2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick)

  Editorial, April 2015

  Iulian Ionescu

  Welcome to Issue #6 of Fantasy Scroll Magazine.

  I'm happy to present you what I believe might be our longest issue so far. No, it's not a double issue, it's a regular issue, but the first story in the fiction section is actually a novelette. This is something new that we are trying out (we have another novelette scheduled for Issue #7). Does this mean that we are now accepting longer pieces? Not exactly. The novelettes will be published exclusively on a request-only basis, and at this point it's not entirely sure if we will continue with them after Issue #7.

  But let's get to the meat of things. The first story is "Raven's Dream," by award winning author Robert Reed. I've been a fan of Robert's works ever since I started reading F&SF, and this has been a favorite story of mine. I'm hoping Robert will write some more stories set in this world, because it is fascinating.

  Outside of the novelette, the overwhelming theme of this story is strong young girls. We kick off with "Jenny is Killing Turtles Again" by Alexander Danner, following with "My Brother's Keeper" by Beth Cato, and "Fortune's Dance" by Jaymi Mizuno. All of them deal with a similar theme, but each character is unique and interesting, and even creepy, in Jenny's case.

  Kurt Hunt's story "The House of Ninety-Nine Secrets," is a delightful rollercoaster that keeps you guessing through the end.

  "The Adventures of Captain Contempt in Mixed Media Installations," by Ian Creasey follows. Besides having the longest story name yet, this take takes a unique look at the art scene in a bizarre futuristic world.

  We have two more reprints in this issue, one is "Hand of God," by Erica Satifka, and the other one is "Meat," by David Steffen.

  We close the fiction section with "Nixie's Rival," by Brynn MacNab, which reminds me to never trust non-humans.

  In the non-fiction section we interviewed award winning author Robert Reed, author Erica Satifka, and award winning editor Ellen Datlow. In addition, we have our regular artist spotlight, featuring Franklin Chan, the artist who supplied this issue's cover art.

  We than have two book reviews. Why two? Because one is for Ken Liu's first novel, "The Grace of Kings," published just a week or so ago, and the other is for Joe Abercrombie's latest novel, "Half The World," published just a couple of months ago. It was just too damn tempting to include them both.

  Finally, we close with a movie review for a classic s/f movie: 2001: A Space Odyssey, directed by Stanley Kubrick. If you haven't seen this movie, you have one week to correct that. Tops.

  That's it! I hope you enjoy this new issue, and we'll see you soon!

  Find us on the web:

  Magazine site: http://www.fantasyscrollmag.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/FantasyScroll

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/FantasyScroll

  Raven's Dream

  Robert Reed

  "Nothing but the world is real and true," Grandfather began. His voice was soft, whispery and wise. His eyes were as black as the darkness beneath the good ground. "Everything that does not belong to the world is false and untrue," he continued. "It is the stuff of spirits."

  "It is a lie," Raven continued, knowing the lesson by heart. "Spirit stuff only looks like green grass and white sand."

  Grandfather smiled at the boy. "Who rules in the spirit realm?"

  "The demons rule it," Raven answered.

  Then the old man waved his good hand, signifying each of the four winds. "And what do we know about the demons?"

  "They should be feared," Raven replied.

  Grandfather nodded and said nothing, a crooked smile revealing the last of his yellowed teeth.

  The boy looked at the sky and across the darkened land. Quietly, he mentioned, "The spirit realm must be very large."

  "It is large. Yes."

  "And the world is small," Raven added.

  "Oh, no," said Grandfather. "The world is plenty huge. It feeds our bellies and our senses, does it not? If a small boy wanders away from home, won't he lose his way in the world?" Then the old man laughed, adding, "The same as you swallow a grasshopper, the world can swallow you. If you wander off, you will get lost and die without a proper burial, and your miserable soul will never return to the earth."

  Even smiling, Grandfather was a scary presence.

  "As long as you are a boy," he continued, "you must remain home. You may not go farther than the river or the sky."

  "Yes, Grandfather. I know what is allowed."

  Their home was inside a great hill that stood beside the river. All the world's water flowed past their feet. The channel was too wide to leap across, and where the river cut against the hill, it swirled, making a deep, dangerous hole. Even the strongest man respected the water's power.

  Raven liked to follow one of the narrow trails down to the river's lip, and there he would practice hiding as he watched the chill water slide past. Tangles of dead junipers let him vanish. Like any boy in his seventh year, he knew how to remain perfectly still, breathing in secret, blinking only when the pain in his eyes was unbearable. He knew how to watch the world with all of his senses. The sun would fall, pulling the night across the sky, and after a little while, Raven's brother and uncle and the other men would slip down the trails. They moved downstream, crossing where the river was straigh
t and shallow. What noise they made was hidden by the water sounds. What footprints they made were washed away in moments. Like graceful threads of darkness, the hunters climbed up the far bank, and then Raven's brother, or maybe his uncle, would look back at him. The boy could hide in many places, but they always knew where he was. Raven didn't fool them, and they never pretended to be fooled, and for at least one more night, he was still very much the child.

  Afterward, when he couldn't see them anymore, Raven would put away his sadness and climb to the sky. The world had no higher place. Just past the windy crest, limbless dead trees stood in a perfect line stretching from dawn to dusk. Metal ropes, thin and bright, were strung between the trees. This was the end of the world; everything beyond only pretended to be real. Only a grown man could slip beneath the lowest rope. Only a brave man properly trained and purified could hope to survive that magical realm. Demons were demons, dangerous by any measure; but because they were demons, they also had treasures worth stealing. Two or three times every year, Raven's uncle—the bravest, holiest man in the world—journeyed alone into the spirit realm. He would be gone for days and days, returning home with a heavy pack jammed full of gifts. Then afterward, Uncle would keep to himself, pretending to be deaf while staring hard at nothing, moving his lips, talking to the demons that were plainly haunting his mind.

  "Why is the world shaped as it is, Grandfather?"

  "Because it is the world, Raven."

  The boy and old man were sitting on the hilltop, inside a little bowl of packed sand. Raven watched the river move in the moonlight and listened to the constant chittering of insects. A wind was blowing straight from summer. The two of them wore demon clothes decorated with tufts of grass and smudges made with blackened coals. Neither moved, and neither spoke louder than a whisper.

  "Does the world need a reason to have its shape?"

  Raven hesitated, and then he said, "Yes, Grandfather."

  The old man had a wrinkled face and long hair that had turned white years before Raven was born. When Grandfather was young, a demon had shattered his arm and left it crippled. His old legs were losing their strength. But he was wise. He had experience and a practical nature, and his answers were shaped to serve a purpose. He looked at the boy, and then he sighed and looked back over his shoulder, staring out into the spirit realm. "You are right. All things beg for a shape."

  The boy nodded and smiled.

  "And the world just happens to have its own shape. Is that too difficult to accept?"

  "No, Grandfather." Raven used a finger, drawing in the sandy earth. He made a line and another line, marking the borders with winter and summer, and then he drew a curling line between them. He drew the river that he could see from above, and he added what he knew from stories. Each bend of the river had its name. Every waterfall and every rapid were famous. Grown trees had histories worth knowing by heart. Raven was barely in his seventh year, but he knew the world from the stories that were told in the cool dampness of the underground.

  Grandfather watched him, and after a long moment, he took his good hand and finished the drawing. Two more straight lines marked dawn and dusk, cutting across the ends of the river.

  He said, "This is the world."

  "I know, Grandfather."

  "You can never doubt its shape."

  "I know."

  But instead of dropping the subject, the old man asked, "What would be a better shape? If you were to choose."

  Raven shrugged, admitting, "I do not know."

  "Think about it. Think hard."

  They sat in the darkness, neither speaking. Upriver, the short-hairs were mooing about nothing. One of the demon machines blinked and rumbled as it crossed the sky. Then a buck deer came out of the spirit realm, stopping before the metal ropes to sniff at the wind. When the deer felt safe, it leaped, an easy strength carrying it over the highest rope, black hooves landing in the grass inside the world. Then Raven moved, and the deer spooked, bounding off into the trees.

  But Grandfather did not reprimand him. Instead, he watched the boy draw an enormous circle around the square world. Where they were sitting was the circle's center. Why that shape seemed right, Raven didn't know. But it felt right, and he said so.

  Grandfather nodded, and after a moment, he said, "Yes."

  He said, "This is the shape of the spirit realm," and he threw his good arm over his grandson. "It is a sign, I think. You knowing this already."

  "Is it a good sign?" asked the boy.

  "Unless it brings evil," Grandfather allowed. "Truthfully, it is too early even to guess about such things."

  Demons looked much like people. They walked on two legs and spoke like real men and women, and they wore clothes and carried all manner of tools. But their walk was a noisy, graceless shamble, and their words came out too fast, twisted around a strange, inhuman tongue. Their clothes were made from stuff not found in the world, and their tools were magical things that could only come from the spirit realm.

  A few demons had names.

  There was Yellow Hair and Cold Stone; but most familiar to Raven was a large, round-faced creature named Blue Clad. Blue Clad was named for his blue trousers and various blue coats. He usually came from dawn, riding inside a noisy metal wagon that everyone knew by sound and sight. He usually kept his wagon on the open grass and the smaller hills. Sometimes he cut across what was real, traveling to some other part of the spirit realm. But on other days, Blue Clad brought Yellow Hair and Cold Stone. Working together, the three demons would lead a herd of short-hairs to where the world's sweet grass waited, or they would fix the metal ropes around the world, or they would take away their fat animals, leaving the grass to grow tall again.

  Most demons didn't require names. They usually came in summer, riding down the river inside metal bowls. The bowls were long and narrow, gliding easily across the water. A person could hear them from three bends downriver. They were noisy creatures, spanking the water with flat pieces of wood, kicking at the bright metal, talking endlessly and loudly while laughing with their coarse voices, seeing nothing of the beautiful world sliding past their bright, blinded eyes.

  Late one day, four demons appeared on the river.

  It was that next summer. Raven was in his eighth year, almost a man. When Uncle brought word of intruders, the boy set to work with the adults, brushing away footprints and picking up the occasional bit of trash. Then together, the people moved underground. Doors were dragged into place and lowered and sealed. The only light fell through the air holes, and then one of the old demon torches was lit, and people sat in its tired light and waited.

  Only Uncle and Grandfather were outside. When the demons had passed, they would give the signal by pounding their feet.

  A long while passed. Then when the pounding came, it was the wrong signal. Twice and then twice again, someone struck the main door. Raven's mother helped pull the door open. The darkness outside was bright compared to the darkness underground. Grandfather crawled through, his narrow face smiling but his voice sad and worried. "They are not leaving," he admitted. "The demons made camp on the far bank."

  Raven wanted to climb outside and look. But he didn't move or breathe, watching the old man shuffle down the narrow passageway. Straightening his back, Grandfather said, "The demons are using our river and our firewood. Your uncle had to leave for a time. I want you to go down there in place of him. Go down and steal a treasure or two. Would you do that for me?"

  "Yes, Grandfather."

  The old man was speaking to Raven's brother. Snow-On-Snow was in his twelfth year, which made him a full man. He was taller than his brother, but not by much, and he was famous for his endless caution.

  "Use your night clothes," Grandfather suggested. "And I have a charm that will help you."

  "Thank you, Grandfather."

  Raven said nothing, but a sound leaked from his lips.

  Grandfather turned. He wasn't even pretending to smile. In the weak light of the demon lamp, he looke
d angry. But with his calmest voice, he said, "I was going to send you with your brother. But if you can't control your tongue here, how can we trust you down there?"

  "You can trust me, Grandfather." Raven dipped his head, and in every way possible, he made no sound.

  A leathery hand touched him on the shoulder.

  "Night clothes," Grandfather said to him. "And since you are not ready for this duty, I will give you a very powerful charm."

  But Raven was ready. He slipped back into the little chamber where he kept his few possessions, and in the blackness, by feel alone, he found the black demon clothes and black mask that would cover him completely. They were old clothes that still smelled of their long-ago owners. That enhanced their power. When Raven was dressed, he came into the main tunnel. Everyone was waiting for him. Snow-On-Snow was speaking to the charm around his neck, begging for its help. Grandfather handed Raven an owl foot with owl feathers tied to the bone, the wing of a bat wrapped around everything. Raven pretended to speak to the charm, but only because the others were watching. Then he tucked it inside his black shirt and looked at the staring faces.

  "Take treasures," said Grandfather. "But not too much."

  "We will and we won't," Snow-On-Snow promised.

  The brothers climbed outside, bare feet making no sound on the hard summer earth. The door was sealed behind them. Suddenly there was nobody in the world but them. The demons were chattering and laughing. Raven saw the flickering fire between the trees. The fire was enormous, throwing shadows in all directions. It was summer, but a cool wind was blowing from the winter. Raven smelled smoke and something else. What was that smell? He nearly asked, but then his brother put his mouth to Raven's ear. "We wait until they sleep," he whispered.

  "Wait where?" Raven asked.

  "Here."

  But they were still high above the river. Raven shook his head, whispering, "We can move closer. I know where."