Glimpses: an Anthology of 16 Short Fantasy Stories: An exclusive collection of fantasy fiction

by Kevin Partner

  I don’t feel human. My life is a mess, and I don’t know why. Matthew says I’m always uptight lately, and I’m afraid he’s right. I just wish he’d cut me some slack. My mom died six months ago. “It was expected,” Matthew keeps saying, but somehow I feel at loose ends even though I know it was time and I can’t say I’m grieving. I don’t know what I am.

  I’m making mistakes on my job. So far, I’ve found them in time to fix them before anyone else discovers them, but I worry it’s only a matter of time before some egregious error slips through. I haven’t been there long enough to prove myself. I love the work and the salary pays the rent in the expensive bay area. There’s opportunity for advancement. I will lose this choice position if I can’t concentrate. I wonder if I should see a therapist or ask my doctor about an anti-anxiety pill. Half the people I know are on them. Maybe I should take some time off. I need to do something. I can’t keep living like this.

  Would Matthew and I be OK if I could get myself together? I’m not sure, but it was so good at first. When we met at that political rally to get big money out of politics we were both so hyped up. Afterward, over beer and bar food we couldn’t agree with each other fast enough. Now, after this last election I’m ready to give up, and he wants to keep on fighting, thinks I’m a traitor. Maybe I am. After all those years as Valerie Volunteer and just when the rest of the country is finally waking up, I’m abandoning it all. There’s something wrong with me.

  I hear the announcement for my train, hoist myself up, and stand behind one of the black strips marking spots where the doors will land. I wish I were as predictably accurate as BART drivers. I see the car is packed and groan to myself. I’m tired, and I’ll have to stand all the way into San Francisco.

  Holding onto an overhead strap, I notice my purse yawning open and snap it shut. I look around at my fellow worker bees. Everyone is busy texting or reading a book on their smart phones. They all look put together. I notice a particularly pretty, young woman sitting on the aisle next to a man wearing a black sweater and black pants. I don’t know why, but I think men in black look dashingly yummy. However, it is the young woman who is stunning— big velvet brown eyes with perfectly arched eyebrows and luscious wavy brown hair. I imagine she has an ideal life and a wonderful boyfriend. She looks up and I glance away hoping she hasn’t noticed me staring at her. I examine others and envision their lives, all better than my own. There’s a lovely silver-blue haired woman next to a sweet looking child, probably grandma treating her granddaughter to a day in the city. I turn to look at the young beauty again just in time to register an expression of disgust as she springs from her seat. I blink at her and she says, “I’ll trade you.” Despite my puzzlement I am not about to argue. She takes my strap turning her back at her former seatmate, and I take her seat with relief.

  I glance at the man in black. He looks vaguely familiar. Maybe he usually takes my earlier train. After a while, you begin to recognize regular riders, but it feels like I’ve seen him elsewhere.

  “Lucky you,” he says.

  “Yes,” I say, “the first bit of luck I’ve had today or in an eon for that matter.”

  “Oh, is that so? Tell me about it. I have a good ear.”

  “You don’t want to know,” I say, sorry I’d begun a conversation. The guy seems friendly, but obviously he’d been a bit too friendly with the brown-eyed beauty. I probably don’t have to worry. I’m certainly not as tempting, but why take chances?

  “You might be surprised. I’m a student of human nature. I’ve been watching you.”

  What a pickup line, if that’s what it was. Creepy is what it was. “It’s just that my life seems to have gone off the rails. Nothing seems to go right for me.” If I’m not specific, maybe he won’t think he has to school me with a long lecture of advice on how to live. I start to dig in my purse for my cell phone. If I get busy, he’ll be more likely to leave me alone. I wonder if Matthew has texted. When I feel my seatmate hanging on me to say more, I manage to respond. “Well, I’m not an interesting specimen.” Then I don’t know what came over me, but I add, “My mom died six months ago.”

  I don’t hear his reply as I can’t find my cell phone. I calm myself and for the second time this morning methodically go through each pocket even though I distinctly remember putting it in its proper place. “Oh shit!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I lost my cell phone. I know I had it when I left home and now it’s not in my purse. My entire life is on that phone.” I’m thinking out loud more than I am talking to this guy. I try to reconstruct my steps. I’m sure it’s not in my car. I had to open my purse to get out my clipper card and I was in a rush. Did I have to open it to put on my makeup or was it already open? I evidently hadn’t closed it properly since I had to snap it shut after I boarded. I ignore the man while I try to figure out where I lost it. I don’t think it could have fallen out in my dash from the car, which meant it was stolen or just as bad picked up by someone who won’t turn it in. Suddenly, I feel it’s the last straw and mutter. “I wish I were dead.” I prop my elbows on my knees and, put my head in my hands.

  Something ice cold landed on my back and I jerked up to see the man’s arm reaching behind me. I look at his face, which wore the strangest condescending smile below cheeks that appeared more hollow than before, much more hollow. Who is this guy?

  “You’re ready,” he said. “That makes it easier.”

  “What are you talking about? Makes what easier?”

  He smiles broadly, and that’s when I notice his small pointy teeth matching his long pointy ears. He’s pulled up the black hood on his sweater. I’m sure he didn’t look like that when I first sat down. I understand now why the young woman bolted from this seat. I’m outta here as well. I begin to stand when my chest feels like there’s a fist inside slowly squeezing my heart. I stop, sit back down, and try to catch my breath. The cold hand pats my back. I can’t move. I can only stare straight ahead, hoping my stricken face will signal for help.

  I am only grateful the fist isn’t squeezing harder, merely maintaining its tight grip. I should be too young for a heart attack. How long does one last? I suffer a few agonizing minutes, and feel it’s my last few. What is one supposed to do? I’m feeling afraid I’m about to pass out when the door between cars opens a few seats in front of me. A BART security guard enters and I try to hang on. He looks around, seems to spot me, walks up and asks, “Did you lose your cell phone? This was turned in by someone who said a woman in a green skirt and cream blouse dropped it.”

  I want to laugh. I’m dying, but I get my phone back. I nod yes and begin to cry.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  I shake my head no. “I think I’m having a heart attack.” And now I’m a ma’am?

  The guard’s eyes widen and he pulls out a heavy-looking device covered in black leather and radios for an ambulance to be sent to the next station, Lake Merritt. Then he rushes for a first aid box hanging on the front wall.

  Everything I have to live for floods my brain. My protective Matthew, my concerned friends, my ideal job at a tall building on Howard Street with a view of the bay, my former good health, the amazing, crazy San Francisco area, and the US is not Syria. On impulse I turn to my seatmate. “I want to live.”

  The man in black says nothing, his body language says nothing, but the pleasure has drained from his now normal looking face. After studying me for several long seconds, he says calmly, “We’ll see.”

  Read More

  Find out more about Eloise Hamann's writing at https://ewritessite.wordpress.com

  Forces of Magic: The Testing Book 0.5

  Shawn Robert Smith

  "Stay back!" Linette exclaimed, pulling Winthrop two steps toward her, and causing him to bump into Markus. "Never cross the path left behind by a Decayed."

  The three of them walked towards the village square, a horse-drawn carriage had overtaken them on the dirt road. Winthrop looked at the space she
referred to and then to the carriage. Behind it, a wagon carried a master of the Decayed order. He was kept locked inside of a cage not large enough for him to stand.

  Winthrop, Markus, and Linette coughed from the cloud of dirt kicked up by the horses, mimicking the clip clap sounds made from the animal’s hooves. The debris stuck to their skin, sweaty from the summer heat.

  Winthrop humored Linette by avoiding the space behind the Decayed, but he knew it was harmless. He moved next to her, brushing against her shoulder. She flinched and moved closer to Markus. Winthrop guessed he’d managed to press against the latest set of bruises from her father.

  He’d been working all day for the past few weeks helping plant crops for the summer which left no time to think about his upcoming magic test. Now, he couldn’t think of anything else. He hoped to make the memory of his father proud by joining the same magical order: The Ox. It’d also provide him with an advantage over Linette’s father who lacked any magical talent.

  "You don't believe those scary stories your parents told you as a young child," Markus said, rolling his eyes.

  "They say if you cross the path of a Decayed, you'll catch an illness. You could catch a cold that will leave you bedridden for weeks or something much more sinister," Linette said as she crossed her arms against her chest. Her face bore a serious look; the one Winthrop adored since they first met ten years ago.

  “That’s not true,” Markus said.

  "My dad said so. His mom crossed one and died a week later, she did," Linette retorted. She kept her blond hair in a ponytail, revealing her grass-green eyes. Her face glowed like a firefly in the night. Winthrop's knees weakened, but he hoped not enough for anyone to notice. He let his smile drop when she looked to Markus for reassurance.

  "Do you think any of us will join a magical order?" Winthrop asked, changing the subject. They’d discussed it before, but today it weighed on him like a bag of flour on his shoulder.

  Tomorrow, a master wielder from each order will test all children who had turned seventeen within the past year. That included Linette, Markus, and him.

  "Absolutely," Markus said. "I'll wield magic from the Order of the Lion and rule the empire within eight years. Be sure to stay on my good side, and I'll keep you from starving." His lips formed a devious little smile.

  Winthrop punched him in the arm, and then shook it out, struggling not to express his pain. While he and Linette’s eye level matched, they both looked up to Markus. His arrogance and big heart mixed together, creating a charm that most girls found desirable. Had Winthrop worn the same tight clothing and forgot to shave, people would think him poor and lazy. Yet, on Markus it only made him look rugged and strong. He won every tournament in their small village, beating out grown men with ease. Markus was someone even Winthrop would follow into a losing battle.

  "If we have the talent, I want us to match. Foolish, I know, but I like your company," Linette said.

  "We are more likely to all have no talent than join the same magical order," Winthrop said. Linette frowned.

  The Creator blessed some with magical talent and the rest with boring skills like baking, blacksmithing, or farming, their likely professions if they have no magical ability.

  I can't decide which I like best. I'd be happy with any of them...Anything to help me escape my father," Linette said.

  Winthrop clenched his fist.

  The carriage pulling the Decayed stopped. Winthrop looked at the group of magicians and focused in on the Decayed.

  Twenty years ago, before Winthrop was born, something happened to the Order of Man. Somehow their powers of decay, a natural process in the world, turned against them and poisoned their souls. Many referred to their betrayal of the other orders as the Night of Sorrow. They murdered all members of the Council of Orders and took control of the castle in Mapleglen. Within a few months, thousands of innocent lives were taken, commoners and magicians alike. It took five years to take the castle back. The Council of Light was formed with the three remaining orders and they called for the death of any current members of the Order of Man, now referred to as the Decayed. That is, with a few exceptions. They kept three to use for testing future generations of children. If you passed the Decayed test, you were given the option of death or the removal of both middle fingers. Without fingers, one can’t produce magic. Yet, those without those specific appendages were often shunned.

  Two light magic wielders--a man and a woman--jumped out of the wagon and surrounded it, their blue and white robes billowing in the wind. The third stood next to the cage and wore a red robe and bore a thick beard that resembled a lion's mane. Winthrop squinted his eyes when a bright red sphere formed in the man’s hand. The master moved his hands in a pattern, and a small lightning bolt shot out and struck the dark magic wielder. The sound of thunder filled the town square, stealing the attention of the entire village. The prisoner grimaced and moaned in pain through his gag. The red-robed wielder jumped down, causing the wagon to creak and to rise several inches.

  The villagers leered at the spectacle, and Winthrop managed a better look at the dark one. His face looked like he had climbed through a chimney, covering him in ash. Dark lines surrounded his eyes, spreading out in every direction like a cracked window. Winthrop recalled the patch of dead grass he’d found after last year’s test. The other masters had kept him in one spot overnight and his dark magic did its work.

  The stout wielder shouted at the prisoner, "Don't talk to anyone. I won't have you spreading your malicious lies to this nice village. You'll do your task and return to your cell at the castle."

  "Must they bring a Decayed here?" Linette asked. Her shoulders shifted against her neck.

  She squirmed. Winthrop began to grab her hand but refrained when she looked to Markus again.

  "They need him to test us for dark magic tomorrow,” Winthrop said. “The first time you use magic, you need help from a master. That’s the only reason they keep him alive. If you pass the Decayed test, they remove your middle fingers, stopping your ability to perform dark magic.”

  "I don't want him spreading his evil cooties near me," Linette said, wiping her hands on her white dress.

  Winthrop hoped that tomorrow he'd discover a magical talent, as long as it wasn’t dark magic.

  The knock on the door to Winthrop's house thundered. He awoke, his mind running like a pair of pack horses at the start of their journey. He dressed, falling over twice, trying to put his pants on. The visitor knocked again.

  BOOM. BOOM.

  He opened the door to one of the wielder’s from yesterday. She almost needed to duck when entering their seven-foot door frame. She wore a dark blue cloak wrapped around her with a modest "V" cut neckline.

  "Winthrop?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "My name is Zyadrin. I'm here by decree of our King to test your ability in magic. Please come with me."

  He paused as she loomed over him. His body trembled, his nerves twitched in anticipation of what today meant. He gathered himself and followed her. As they walked, her curvaceous figure pulled his attention to her, allowing her movements to hypnotize his seventeen-year-old mind. When she glanced at him, he captured a memory of her face, yet dared not stare for more than a few seconds. It had a bronze complexion, and her luscious red lips contrasted with her black eyes. She looked at him again, giving him a smile that beckoned he smile in return. It startled him and he hoped she couldn’t read his mind.

  "Do not fear, child. At each test, attempt what we ask. We look forward to seeing what skill you have. I'm curious how much you take after your father.” Her melodious voice slowed his heartbeat, his body slackened.

  As they approached the forest, he noticed a flower along the path that looked wilted and black. Winthrop tried to push it from his thoughts, but it felt ominous.

  They reached the other masters, including the Decayed who remained imprisoned in his cell. The smell of death surrounded him, forcing Winthrop to cover his nose. The forest stood silent. E
ven the constant hum of bugs disappeared. A calm wind flew past Winthrop, filling his nostrils with the smell of wood and blowing pine needles against his ankles. He looked at the masters of magic, the morning light dimmed by the density of pine trees. Each wore a colored robe--white, red, blue, and black.

  Knilin, who stood to his far left, stepped forward. Winthrop knew him from prior visits. "Winthrop," Knilin began, "there are four types of magic. Each of us represents one type. You already know that I am of the Order of the Eagle from my time in the village. Darius, Order of the Lion, stands next to me. Then, Zyadrin who belongs to the order of the Ox. In the cell, we hold Atwix from the Order of the Decayed. Today, we test your ability in each form. Some people lack any talent; the rest claim the ability to become proficient in one of them." He paced back and forth, moving without disturbing the blanket of pine needles and forest debris. Knilin had the build of a someone who spent much of his time running long-distances.

  His white robes glowed like daylight. "I will demonstrate the hand motions that you'll need to mimic for the first test. Don’t be alarmed when I push magical energy toward you. Without any training, you'll need some assistance with your first attempt."

  Knilin approached a pine tree and motioned Winthrop to draw closer. "For this test, I will command a pine cone to fall from around fifty feet. Attempt to use magic to slow its descent or even stop it if you can. Let me demonstrate."

  Knilin turned toward the tree, reached out his hand, and formed a glowing white sphere. The brightness of his magic lit up the forest, scaring away a pair of squirrels. A pine cone fell, and he pulled his hand in a left-to-right motion, extending the sphere into a straight line. He pushed the line to the space above the falling pine cone like a rope, linking the pine cone to the sky. It hovered five feet from the ground.