2014 Campbellian Anthology

by Various

  Ephah and I couldn’t just shoot off in a shuttle. The cruiser would see us. But perhaps if we clung to Our Lady’s underbelly she could keep us shielded from the authorities long enough for Ephah to create.

  The access tunnel opened and we doubled over to avoid scraping our heads on the low ceiling. Five compact hatches led to five cramped escape shuttles. I picked the one furthest left and unceremoniously shoved Ephah inside.

  “Take a seat,” I said. I helped her buckle in, then rushed to the helm.

  Under my control the shuttle moved deftly from dock. The bay’s airlock disengaged, and we sailed seamlessly through.

  Like a tick looking for the choicest bite, the shuttle edged along the cathedral’s underside until I found a spot to hide. I switched on the electromagnetic landing gear, and we settled down in a depression on the hull.

  “I need to open the solar shield. It won’t let the star’s full force in, but hopefully it will be enough,” I said. She needed the power… but what about me? Energy-devouring god I decidedly was not. The shuttle was one-roomed; where would I hide? I paused for a moment, realizing I was about to be eradiated with her.

  But the thought did not terrify me. I was not angry or saddened. I felt no desire to run, only a deep calm.

  A familiar calm.

  This was the right thing to do. I wasn’t just saving a single being; I was saving an unborn universe. Next to that, my own well-being meant nothing.

  I looked into her dark eyes and awed at what I’d had the privilege to discover: the young face of god. Here she was, before the omnipotence that comes with creating worlds and rules, before the loss of innocence that comes with ultimate knowledge, before worship and praise and thanks.

  Hot streams ran down my cheeks. In that moment I couldn’t keep my thoughts to myself. “I shall be your first martyr,” I said.

  Ephah looked at me with unknowing eyes. She did not understand, and that was beautiful.

  I could not dally. Even if the cruiser failed to notice us, someone in the cathedral was sure to discover the missing shuttle.

  These were my last moments, and I drank them in with fervor. I felt complete. My two passions—for cosmology and religion—had come together and fused before my eyes. This was what Father Aaron and I had sought all these years together: the physicality of the divine. Had God allowed her to appear on our vestibule for a purpose? Did He want me to understand? Did He know I would help her?

  Or was this a great serendipity of existence?

  I pushed the questions out of my head. Even at the end, I was still grasping for understanding.

  I typed in the code that gave me access to the forward shield, and at the same moment the communications board lit up. Either the Bishop or the military—perhaps both—had found us.

  Quickly, I released the solar layer. Covering my head, I ducked beneath the dash, not quite comfortable enough with my fate to let the radiation hit me straight on.

  Ephah’s eyes snapped towards the bright star, staring at it directly. Her eyes and face appeared to blur, but the fogginess quickly resolved into a glow. Her hair already stood on end, and she unbuckled herself to float freely within the cabin.

  The shuttle’s insides grew hotter, and within moments I was sweating. I wiped the droplets away from my eyes. I couldn’t miss this.

  She lifted her arms, and light shown from her fingertips. I waited impatiently for her to dissolve out of existence, away into her own universe, but she did not leave.

  “Go!” I said, my tone laced with urgency.

  “It is not enough,” she replied calmly.

  The shuttle jerked and vibrated. Someone had fired a warning shot.

  “I must have the full output of the star,” Ephah said.

  The air was so heavy I couldn’t breathe. And the metal around me was too hot to touch—everywhere my skin brushed against it blisters erupted. This was going to be a painful death.

  Ephah twisted in an unusual way, her strange knees folded in the wrong direction, and her arms shot out dramatically to each side. She looked like she meant to push against the shuttle walls, though her fingers did not touch them.

  In the next moment my world exploded. The escape shuttle burst apart at every closure and seam, reduced to its basic parts in the blink of an eye.

  And I was now suspended in space, fully exposed.

  Ephah floated beside me, her face pure calm and her body pure power. I reached towards her, expecting no response, but she took my hand. Looking into my eyes, she smiled. Her glow brightened, became blinding.

  And then there was nothing.

  • • •

  “You do not belong to me,” Ephah said.

  I didn’t hear her with my ears, or see her with my eyes. I couldn’t feel my limbs, or my heartbeat.

  “I cannot make you a part of my universe,” she said.

  I wasn’t dead, but I also wasn’t alive. Ephah must have saved me, but where were we now? Not in her universe, and not in mine.

  There was something I’d wanted to say before, but had missed the opportunity. “Please, don’t recreate the fear you saw,” I pleaded. If there was a chance at a pure universe, I had to take it. “Forget what they did to you, and just remember my help. Don’t create more suffering.”

  “True happiness and true suffering are both birthed from knowledge. If I refuse to create suffering I refuse to create knowing.” She was different again, wiser. She’d evolved further.

  “I cannot make you a part of my universe,” she said again, “But if I send you back you will die.” She was trying to get me to understand something. “If you let me, I will save you as He saved me.”

  “What do you—?” But I knew.

  Ephah had helped a god—my God?—just as I had helped her. And now she…

  It was a cycle, of salvation and creation.

  “Right now you are weak,” she said. “Too weak to do anything but linger. You will linger for eternity—except there is no eternity, because there is no time—and you will forget yourself. But, eventually, something will slip from my universe into this place and make you remember. And then you’ll follow that spark and visit my world. And knowledge will be your friend and enemy, just as it was mine.” There was a dual happiness and sadness flowing from her. She was remembering.

  “I will teach my creations what you reminded me of, Thomas: compassion, compulsion to aid the helpless, the acceptance of ignorance without fear. And when you emerge, one of them may see me in you. I can only hope.”

  There was a softness in the nothingness, something I could only liken to the most chaste of kisses. And then she was gone.

  And I was alone in the time before time, waiting for my turn to be reborn.

  MASTER BELLADINO’S MASK

  by Marina J. Lostetter

  First published in Writers of the Future, Vol. XXIX (2013), edited by Dave Wolverton

  • • • •

  THE CHIMING of the store’s bell smacked of luxury, like everything else in the city. Bells in the country always tinkled with a tin echo that indicated they were made of lesser things, just like the country people: their rolling drawl was the calling card of an unrefined upbringing.

  Melanie was all too aware of this when she opened her mouth to address the clerk. “I’m interested in a mask,” she said, as crisp and clear as possible. And saving my mother, she silently added.

  His dull eyes traced her from mud-crusted skirt up to moth-eaten best hat, his lips maintaining a scowl the entire way. He had a long, lithe torso, with the limbs and nose to match. When he answered, he answered slowly. Melanie wasn’t sure if it was because it took a long time for the words to climb out of his lengthy chest, or if he considered her dull-witted.

  “You are in a mask shop. I’d expect you’re interested in a mask. What kind?”

  She sneaked glances left and right. On the walls hung carvings of every possible shape and design. Bright and dark colors made sweeping patterns, twisting together to tell a varie
ty of stories. Exotic animals displayed gaping maws. Demons grinned through grotesque, asymmetrical features. Human likeness twisted into caricatures through exaggerated expressions.

  She hunched her shoulders, shrinking from their cold, empty stares. They watched, waiting expectantly for her to choose. So many dead faces. A shiver crawled up her spine.

  “A healer’s mask. His name was August Belladino. Is he here?”

  The clerk grinned, as if he knew something she did not. A private joke, perhaps. “He is. Were you looking to rent, or buy? The knowledge of Master Belladino does not come—” he frowned deeply—“cheap.”

  What did he consider cheap? Any sort of magic carried a hefty price in the country. But city and country definitions of “expensive” weren’t the same.

  “I’d like to rent,” she said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out all but a few vials of minutes. “Is this enough?” In the country the ratio was usually 60:1. One hour of use for every bottled minute.

  She glanced down at the time, a little guilty. She could have given it to her mother. But, no, that wouldn’t be proper. What were a few more minutes of agony when she could have years of health?

  The store bell rang again, and Melanie glanced over her shoulder at the new patron. He was a dark-skinned young man, about her age. He looked as if he belonged in the city—all sharp edges and clean lines.

  Her cheeks grew hot. Melanie felt embarrassed to have her exchange with the clerk overheard.

  The clerk glowered, and his annoyance intensified. He opened his mouth to say something to the man, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he counted up Melanie’s minutes. “Enough for a day and a half.”

  Her heart sank. “I’d hoped for three. The healer in my town said I’d need three.”

  “Then come back when you have the full fare.” Impatiently, he drummed his fingers against the countertop.

  “Please,” her voice shook. She gulped. “I don’t have time to raise more.” She dumped the rest of the bottles from her purse. The last minutes were meant for the innkeeper, but the mask was more important. Melanie and her mother could sleep on the streets a few nights, if they had to.

  “Still not enough,” he said coldly.

  Smooth skin brushed past hers, and a dark hand laid a generous pile of time beside hers. “That should cover it,” said the young man.

  Deep, black eyes held Melanie’s gaze for a moment. She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

  “I told you not to come in here again,” the clerk said. “You scare away my customers.”

  “I’m not scaring anyone,” he said indignantly. “I’m helping her pay. I’m giving you money. Are you refusing to rent to her?”

  Without another word the clerk stomped from behind the counter and over to the far wall. Taking great care, he lifted one of the wooden masks from its hook—one of the animal effigies. “Master Belladino’s mask,” he said, offering it to her. “Covered for a week.”

  “It’s so light,” she said, balancing it delicately. In the country people had to carve their death masks out of cedar or pine instead of imported balsa, and no one she knew could afford paint, let alone enchantment. Clutching it to her chest, she turned to the young man. “Thank you,” she said, “I’ll repay you, somehow. I’ll come up with the time—or I can work the minutes off straight. I might not look it, but I can plow fields all day, or clean house, or—”

  “We’ll come up with something.” His face was gentle, but his expression stern. “Where are you staying?”

  “The inn at—” In her sudden elation, she’d forgotten. Her eyes strayed to the bottles.

  He read her mind. “I’ll cover that, too. I work at the Creek Side Inn; I can get you a room, if you’d like.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Master—?”

  “Leiwood.”

  “Melanie Dupont. I’ll get my mother and we’ll be right over. I can’t, I mean…” She was so happy she couldn’t get her tongue to behave properly. “It’s just, I didn’t think—” She shuffled her feet, wanting to be off as quickly as she could.

  “Go. I’ll see you this evening.”

  Giddy with excitement and gratitude, she skipped away. Before she could cue the bell’s tinkling once more, Master Leiwood caught her by the shoulder. “Be careful,” he said darkly. “Keep your guard up.”

  She nodded absently, her hand already on the door.

  As she left, Melanie caught the beginning of a new conversation between Leiwood and the clerk. She paused outside the door to listen.

  “You didn’t explain it,” Leiwood said.

  “It’s a healer’s mask; she’ll be fine.”

  “Not like me?”

  “Not like you.”

  The conversation ended, and she hurried on. Melanie was too happy to wonder what they’d meant.

  • • •

  “Mother. Mother, look.” Melanie turned her mother’s pale face toward the mask. “Isn’t it beautiful?” The focal point was a tree frog—the full frog, climbing up a vine, looking over its shoulder—and around it were leaves, branches, and a couple of small exotic birds. The frog’s eyes had been cut out for the wearer.

  Melanie wanted to put it on this instant, to learn Master Belladino’s healing techniques as soon as possible.

  But she forced herself to wait, just until they moved to the Creek Side Inn.

  Using the board they’d brought, Melanie was able to leverage her mother out of bed and partially onto her feet. She buckled her into a harness, then looped the straps—like those on a traveler’s pack—over her own shoulders.

  Limply, her mother hugged her from behind. “Good girl. My good girl,” she breathed.

  Melanie slowly took her mother’s full weight onto her back. “You feel lighter today,” she said, worried.

  “Easier for you to carry, that way,” her mother said. “Soon you won’t have to worry about me anymore. You’ll be able to live your own life, as a young woman should.”

  Yes, Melanie thought, but not for the reason you think. “You’ll feel better soon,” she said.

  Her mother sighed. “Yes, I’m sure I will.”

  Melanie gathered up the rest of their meager belongings, then hobbled out of the room.

  • • •

  “Is this acceptable, Mistress Dupont?” Master Leiwood asked, but not of Melanie. He was addressing her mother.

  No one had spoken directly to her mother in a long time. They always acted as if she couldn’t hear, or as though she weren’t there at all.

  “Fine,” Dawn-Lyn Dupont whispered, snuggling into the covers. “It’s a lovely room.”

  The tables and wardrobe were polished mahogany. Fine sheets—so fresh that Melanie wondered if they’d ever been slept in before—covered the feather bed. These were posh lodgings.

  Master Leiwood nodded and came away from the bedside. “For her?” he asked Melanie, nodding to the mask which sat on the windowsill, propped against the pane.

  “Yes. She has the muscle illness. The one that makes everything quit moving. Even the heart, in the end.” She dropped down onto a chaise, and looked out the window to the bustling afternoon street below. “I asked every healer I could find to have a look at her. In the end they kept telling me, ‘You need August Belladino.’ When I learned he was dead, I was sure he must have a mask—a real one, an enchanted one. An expert craftsman wouldn’t let his knowledge disappear when he died.”

  “Some experts can’t afford to enchant their masks,” he said, “and some would rather cash in their time, live it out.”

  “Yes. But luckily, Master Belladino could… and didn’t.”

  He sat down beside her, keeping a respectful distance.

  “You own the inn, don’t you?” she asked suddenly.

  “I do,” he said.

  They were quiet for awhile. Eventually Dawn-Lyn’s breathing evened out. Melanie could tell she was asleep.

  “Would you like to go to the lounge?�
� Master Leiwood asked. “ Let your mother rest?”

  She nodded and followed him out and down the stairs.

  • • •

  They sat at a small table, bent over full mugs of beer that neither touched. “You sounded concerned when I left the shop,” Melanie said.

  He laughed in caustic sort of way. “I had a bad experience with a mask.” He nodded toward the bar. “It’s on the wall there. Would you like to see it?”

  She wasn’t sure she would, but he got up and she trailed behind. Several masks decorated the room, but the one he indicated was different from the rest. It looked like a crow, with a long black beak and shining metal feathers—and it was hewn in half.

  “My father’s,” he said. “We had an… unhealthy relationship. When he died I thought I’d be able to understand him better if I bought his mask and wore it for a little while. Turns out that wasn’t a good idea.”

  Twisting a fold in her skirt, she waited for him to explain. He didn’t look as if he wanted to—more like he had to. “My father was a bad man. And for the short time that I wore his mask, so was I. Thankfully, I don’t remember much of what happened, and no one got hurt. Once the mask came off, I was me, and the memories of being in his mind drifted away.

  “That’s why I hang around the shop. I try to warn people. It’s not just knowledge that gets transferred, it’s personality, too. Maybe even more than that…” He put his hand over his mouth, as if he were about to be sick. “Just be careful. Stay yourself and stay strong. I don’t know much about Master Belladino, but they say he was a genius. And sometimes geniuses have a funny way of looking at the world, be it good or bad.”

  Melanie patted his hand. “Thank you. For warning me, for everything. I better get back; mother will be hungry when she wakes.”

  “Sure. If you need anything, my room’s at the top of the stairs.”

  • • •

  The sun and her mother had both gone down for the night when Melanie decided that it was time. She lit a candle, then pulled out her inkpot, a pen, and a roll of parchment.