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

by Kevin Partner

The First Consul scowled. “As I told you before, we have little use for extravagance. Ultimately, as your own ancestor said, the world will be brought to peace and order by the sword. I have studied him in depth and highly doubt tea or your haughty manners could achieve the same results.”

  “Yet, the Founder was highly cultured and known for appreciating fine tea.”

  He slammed his open hand onto the table with so much force that the cups fell over. “My patience wears thin, Princess. There are lands to bring under Teleri order. Enough of this idle talk. Let us see your dance so we can continue with more enjoyable endeavors.”

  Kaiya hid her sinking heart behind a pleasant smile. There were no redeeming qualities in this brute. No signs of repentance for his empire’s evil deeds. His death would save countless others. Would Heaven take that into account when it judged her for the evil deed she was about to commit?

  She waved towards her handmaidens to clear the floor of the table, cushions and tea set. After bowing as etiquette demanded, she smoothed out her dress and picked up the scabbard.

  The First Consul leaned forward and grabbed her forearm in an iron grip. His huge hand seemed large enough to wrap around her slender wrist twice. He yanked her toward him with a menacing glare, and she thrust her free hand down to keep from falling on her face.

  With his other hand, he withdrew one of the swords to half its length. It was a thin, supple blade meant for ceremony and performance. Though it held a sharp edge, it lacked the tensile strength for thrusting.

  Her calm façade slipped. He’d never intended to watch the dance. Heavens, he was going to take her now, before she could even attempt to kill him. Fear coursed up her spine like a spear of ice. Her arms and legs froze, ignoring every instinct which screamed to pull away and flee. Her words came out in a stuttered squeak. “Please Consul, you are hurting me.”

  The two handmaidens at the edge of the pavilion shuffled over as hurriedly as their own restrictive gowns would allow. Not like the three of them would be able to overpower the man.

  “Would you try to assassinate me?” He drew the sword to its full length and wiggled it with a patronizing grin. “With these toys? You have been eyeing them this whole time.”

  So he’d suspected a trap, despite her best efforts to disguise them. Kaiya’s pulse galloped. Again she spoke, her voice sounding like an eight-year-old version of herself. “Please… I just need these for my performance, the Dance of Swords.” As if he cared about her plea.

  Geros smirked. If he intended to intimidate her, it was working. Rising to his feet while forcibly dragging her up, he pulled her close. Her heart pounded up against his hard belly, while something unpleasantly firm pressed against hers. He brought his face down close. His breath burned hot against her face. “Very well. Dance!” He pushed her arm as he let go of her, and she stumbled back.

  Her handmaidens came to her side and supported her by the arms. Her entire body shook of its own accord. Heavens, no one had ever manhandled her like that.

  At least she’d been wrong. For whatever reason, he was letting her dance before proceeding with the worst kind of assault. Maybe he had some sick fetish. She had to remain calm, if only to reassure her handmaidens. With a deep breath, she willed her pulse to calm and motioned them off. “It’s all right,” she said in the Cathayi tongue. “Return to your places. Play the music on my signal.”

  Bowing low, they shuffled back. They would share the same fate if she failed.

  Rubbing her sore wrists, Kaiya turned to face Geros. She gestured towards the cushions on the eastern edge of the gazebo. With a few more calming breaths, her voice settled. “Please First Consul, sit facing the west. That way, the harbor below and the autumn trees above may serve as a backdrop for my dance.”

  The Bovyan flashed a grin before strutting over to the cushion and dropping into a cross-legged seat. He crossed his arms. “Get on with it.”

  Kaiya motioned to the handmaidens. One strummed a slow, tremolo tune on the zither while the other joined in with the plucks of a lute. Borrowing the music’s vibrations, she forced her hands to stop trembling. She unsheathed the swords and took up a position in the middle of the floor. Curving her body like an elephant tusk, she held both blades behind her back in her left hand with an underhanded grasp. Even if she couldn’t use a Dragon Song against him directly, she could borrow it to lend her strength.

  Her heart beat with the resolute rhythm of the zither, while her breath united with the plucks of the lute. With the energy of the duet coursing through her, Kaiya swept her arms up to meet one another and split the swords into either hand. Weightless as clouds, she twirled in an arc.

  From this opening, Kaiya continued her dance, transitioning from position to position with graceful precision, orchestrated to the varying tempo of the zither. She never held a pose for more than a split second, making it appear as if she were in constant motion, moving and transitioning as if she were a wisp of smoke, seamlessly transformed by a gently shifting breeze.

  Losing herself in the performance, she let the vibrations of the world propel her effortlessly through the dance. She was safe in this state, the fear and humiliation of the Consul’s physical intimidation melting away. The blades became one with her, swirling and shaking in harmony with the music.

  The barbarian probably wouldn’t care about the artistry, but certainly he’d see the exacting cuts and thrusts, the sweeping parries and redirections, the elusive slips and weaves. Each pass of the dance brought her closer to him. By now, the warmth of the tea would have relaxed him, and the feminine aspects of the dance would have lulled him into complacency. When she peeked, his eyelids appeared heavy.

  One last circle in the routine brought her within reach. The sound, with her body as a conduit, gave the swords enough rigidity to run him through. This was it.

  In the corner of her eye, the First Consul sat spellbound. Not through the magic of a Dragon Song, but rather through the connection between performer and audience. For a few fleeting seconds, they shared that bond, where both found spiritual calm.

  There it was, his humanity. Just a moment prior, he was an evil monster responsible for the misery of millions. One intent on violating her and the handmaidens. Now he was simply a living, breathing man. How could she kill him out of hand?

  Him or her. He would have no reservations, but that is what separated them. Her window of opportunity was closing quickly. Time to make a decision.

  She lunged at him with a sword. As planned, the sun reflected off the blade, flashing into his eyes. He raised his hand and scuttled back.

  The blade tip of her right sword cut though the cloth holding his anti-magic pendant in place. With a surgical spin and reverberating shake, the weapon sent the pin flying high into the air. The left sword followed instantly with a precise, shallow insertion into the center of his sternum. The right sword whirled in a circle, cut through his boot and nicked a spot on his left little toe; and the left arced back to scratch yet another spot on the outer part of his right wrist.

  With the energy of the music guiding her, she’d performed the entire sequence in under a second. Perfectly. Such a feat would have been impossible had she consciously tried. She ended in a cross legged squat, her left blade again held backward behind her back in an underhand grip, and right sword tip planted shallowly in the divot at the base of his neck.

  She withdrew her right sword with a smooth flip and passed it behind her back into her left hand to join its twin. Eyes locked with his, she extended her right arm out again. His pendant dropped neatly into her outstretched hand. The vibrations of the world, which welled within her, now snapped shut like sliding doors.

  All the magic drained from her. It was almost as if her limbs had been cut off. Kaiya fought to keep from gasping, lest he see her weak again. If her improvisation had failed, there would be nothing she could do to defend herself from whatever he planned. Her pulse raced again as she looked at him.

  He raised his right arm, eyes lock
ed on the wound before shifting to his left foot, then down to his chest. Shaking his arm, he looked up with a glare. His lips snarled as he rose.

  Heavens, no. Kaiya’s stomach leaped into her throat. Every nerve shrieked at her to flee, but bereft of energy, her languid limbs refused to obey.

  He took a step forward. Then, eyes widening, he slumped onto the floor. A finger twitched. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out save for a rasped whisper.

  Heavens, it had worked! Relief washed over her and her guttering vitality began to trickle back. Kaiya spun to her feet. “I have spared your life today. I have closed off four energy centers of your body: your Yin reserves are obstructed and pooling at Tian-Tu on your neck and Dan-Zhong on your chest; your Yang vitality is locked and stagnant at Wai-Guan on your wrist and Lin-Qi on your foot.”

  He opened his mouth, but could only croak.

  To hide her conflicting emotions, she kept her expression grave, devoid of satisfaction. “You will not be able to move, nor speak louder than a whisper until you are treated by one who understands the Dao. There is such a doctor at our compound’s temple, who I will send if your men allow me to leave. I suggest you make use of his services by sunrise tomorrow, or your injury shall likely be permanent.”

  And his disability would give her enough time to escape the city. She blew out a long sigh, which undoubtedly make her look weak.

  “Treacherous bitch!” he whispered. “You had better kill me now, or else I will surely hunt you down and force you into a life of misery, fear and humiliation. I shall make the crushing of Cathay my sole reason for living.” Unadulterated hatred burned in his eyes, promising vengeance.

  She shifted back a step, lips quivering and eyes wide. Her knuckles whitened around the sword hilt. Even in his weakened state, he intimidated her. Once he recovered, he’d try to keep his promise. Perhaps it would be better to kill him, after all.

  No. Now he was helpless. She was a musician and a dancer, not a murderer. The time to kill him had passed. Maybe she would regret it in the future, but for now she could live with a clean conscience. As quickly as it came, her fearful expression flickered away, replaced by one of pity. “Until you cherish life, starting with your own, you will never truly find peace.”

  Lips pursed, his brows furrowed above narrowed eyes. “I will find you.”

  She looked at the swords one last time. To think she had been about to murder him. Picking up the scabbard, she sheathed her weapons and motioned for the handmaidens to leave. With Geros incapacitated, escape now seemed possible.

  Read more

  Before she was vanquishing dragons and dictators, Kaiya was just an awkward, naïve girl. See how she transforms into the Dragon Charmer in the Dragon Songs Saga. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0192DPDR0/

  The Silence

  Georgina Makalani

  The Raven Queen stood alone in the great open space of the Temple before the giant statues of the Gods. She had greeted them all, Kira, Kion, Earth, Air, Fire, Water and even Sythia, although she had barely paused before the last one. The very idea of Sythia made her nauseous with fear.

  ‘Water,’ she whispered, ‘please advise me.’

  The Goddess appeared instantly before her, her sweet smiling face almost as transparent as the water of the well, her dress a constant movement of rushing waves, the grey-blue of a stormy day.

  ‘I have directed for another well to be dug,’ Queen Melora said, curtsying low. ‘I worry that I tap into too much water and that it will not last.’

  ‘Fear not, my Raven Queen,’ she whispered, the sound like water flowing over a pebbled creek. ‘You take so little and only what you require. There is enough water for your people.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  ‘There is something else,’ Water said with a knowing look.

  Queen Melora shook her head slowly and clenched her hands, thankful again for the silence of the Temple.

  ‘You may share any concerns,’ Water said. ‘For if I cannot help you, I am sure one of my family can.’ She indicated the platform of statues beside them with a gentle sweep of her hand.

  Melora opened her mouth and then closed it, glancing briefly at the statue of Sythia. The pale stone emphasised just how immovable the Goddess was and yet there was something spiteful about the expression on the stone’s face. ‘My concern today is water for the people.’

  ‘Very well.’ And Water was gone.

  She sighed, wondering what the Gods saw and knew of their activities in the castle and the land around it. ‘Do you know?’ she asked, looking up into their calm faces. She should have told Water her problems but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  Melora drew in a deep breath and stepped up to Sythia’s statue trying to stop her hands from shaking. The Goddess, as all the Gods, was supposed to protect her and her people but something had changed. Doubts had plagued the Raven Queen as relentless murmuring told her the error of her choices for the people. At first she thought she was going mad until it became clear whose voice whispered maliciously.

  Reluctantly Melora stretched out and ran her hands over the smooth stone of Sythia’s feet, as so many had done before her, and would continue to do, so long after she was gone. ‘Why do you not come when I call upon you?’ she asked the stone. Silence filled the great space of the Temple. ‘And yet...’ Melora stopped, bowed her head and turned for the door.

  It wasn’t until the following afternoon that the whispering started again. Melora stood in the shade of the wall as her boys practiced with their wooden swords. She smiled as little Eric swung wildly at Oren, his older brother by barely a year. Their father shouted instructions over the sound of their smacking swords.

  There was much for them to learn, but they were still so little and there was a long time to learn it. Her eldest son Robert moved back and forth with a soldier on the far side of the yard. He managed to block every blow and she hoped that he would soon be able to attack as well as he defended himself. His shirt clung to his wiry frame from the exercise and she could see the man he was to become.

  Her husband gave her a loving look as her two youngest sons continued to swing wildly at each other.

  ‘You don’t need more wells,’ a voice hissed in her ear.

  The smile slipped from her lips and she leaned heavily into the rough stone wall behind her.

  ‘My love?’ her husband called, racing across the yard toward her, two little boys hard on his heels.

  She shook her head and tried to focus on his worried face. ‘I think I have been too long in the sun,’ she whispered. At his look of concern as he squeezed her hand, she added, ‘I am sure some rest is all I need.’

  He nodded and kissed her cheek. ‘I will walk you back to the solar.’

  ‘Stay, I think they could use the practice.’

  ‘Are we getting better, Mama?’ Eric asked, his little face expectant.

  ‘I know what is best for my people,’ Sythia whispered loudly in her ear.

  Melora shook her head trying to dispel the voice and the little boy’s face crumpled. ‘Of course you are,’ she said, kneeling down and pulling him into her arms. ‘The two of you will make wonderful swordsmen.’ He nodded against her neck and she sat back, holding him at arms’ length to study him. ‘Just don’t kill your brother with that sword.’

  He smiled then and quickly kissed her cheek. ‘When do we get real swords like Robert?’

  ‘After much more practice,’ their father said, shepherding them back across the yard.

  ‘Why do you not heed my words? I could make you the best of Queens,’ Sythia whispered.

  Melora did her best to ignore the hissing sound of the Goddess until she was back in the solar with the door closed. ‘I try to do my best for the people,’ she said. ‘And you could help as the other Gods do, by giving advice when it is needed.’ The room became cooler around her and she shivered despite herself. ‘The people need another well and Water agrees.’

  ‘Always ru
shing here and there, what would she know?’

  ‘Much about water,’ Melora quipped. The temperature in the room continued to drop even though the fire burned bright. ‘Why do they not see what you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I am better than them.’

  ‘And yet you do not come to the Temple, instead attempting to influence me at every other moment of the day.’

  ‘I know what is best for the people,’ she hissed. ‘I was looking over them long before you or your crown.’

  ‘You only talk of what is best for you,’ Melora snapped. ‘I will not be your mouthpiece.’

  ‘You can try to ignore me,’ the Goddess said, ‘but I can reach you no matter where you go.’

  Melora waited in the new silence that followed and sat down at the table. She knew that no matter her resistance or even her compliance, if she were to give it, would Sythia remain silent. Sythia wanted control of the Raven Crown and she would continue to murmur in Melora’s ear for as long as she lived. At the realisation, Melora pulled herself up and raced down the narrow spiral stairs and across the cobblestoned courtyard.

  The immense sandstone wall of the Temple, bright in the afternoon light, covered the courtyard in shadows and she slowed her step as she reached the carved door. Would they believe her? she wondered as she entered the Temple, strangely empty of people, and she ran across the smooth flagstones and threw herself down before the Gods. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘I need your help.’

  A cool breeze blew around her, flickering the candle light, pulling at the wisps of hair that had worked their way free of her braids. Air appeared before her and the Temple warmed to the summer breeze that covered her skin. Unlike Water, Air did not reflect the element she was made of; she appeared as a small winged woman that flew easily around her like a bird.

  ‘My Queen,’ the little Goddess said. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘She whispers in my ear,’ she sobbed. ‘All day and all night. Only here, where the Gods would talk with me is she silent.’