Fiona Grey Writes

Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Exhaustion

Peter lay on a Turkish rug, the pattern barely visible. The rug was hidden amidst the flicker of flame and shadow as it danced in the stone fireplace. His face was likewise hidden, by layers of torn sweater and previously sturdy cotton from the arm flung over his eyes. Only the faint changes in respiration showed that he was still alive.

June set their instant hot chocolate—a recent kitchen accomplishment, even if it remained mildly lumpy—on the coffee table that loomed overhead, next to his computer glasses. “For a week off, this has been remarkably busy.”

A grunt from the body on the floor and the crackle of flames was the only response.

“I brought hot cocoa and marshmallows.”

The body masquerading as Peter began to sputter upward. Battered hands fumbled at the wood of the coffee table before grasping it.

“June, a ghrá,” he mumbled, still half-covering his eyes. A hand groped for the mug, exposing a bite mark on his arm as his slowly unraveling sweater caught on the edge of the table.

Finding the treat, he took a long sip. “Perhaps we could schedule magical disasters across the semester, to better coordinate with your teaching schedules. Three per day is a tad over the top, no?”

***

This week’s prompt about a busy week was from Leigh Kimmel – mine about a rooster went to Parrish Baker. Find them all, over at MOTE!

The World Exploded

The car slid in the mud, then suddenly stopped. Then the world surged upward in an explosion of suction and silence.

Later, Charlie would think that “suddenly” was not the right word for an event that simultaneously slowed and surged; too fast to stop her head from slamming into the side window glass, enough time to flinch despite suspecting that would make the impact worse.

“Urrrgh.” She found herself out of the vehicle, resting in what might qualify as a muddy patch of faded purple grass, if one were generous. She wondered if the cool soggy earth would ease the pain in her neck and chest. Groggily, she realized the car’s vehicle straps must have at least partially worked.

“Bu’ler.” Charlie tried the word, then spat out a combination of blood and mud. “Butler.”

“I’m here,” came the voice from behind her. She turned to find him on slightly more solid ground, studying the nearby treeline. Her ruck and weapon rested against his, which was better than Charlie had expected. “We hit a rock. Then the rock exploded.”

“I noticed something – mmrgh – of the sort,” she croaked slowly. Her back twinged in odd places as she struggled to her feet. Boots helped little with the lack of traction. Cold seeped anew through her knees before she staggered to his side. “Supply run turned survival test?”

“No,” Butler said slowly. “Supply run still expected, I think. With your disgusting hot dogs and other chow as incentive. Provided we make it through the survival test, that is.” He pointed to a hazy dot at the bottom of a cliff, surrounded by smudges of deep green and blue. “Think you can make it toward that cave?”

She bared her teeth. “Forget the cave. I can make it to wherever the hot dogs are.”

***

This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: The car slid in the mud, and then suddenly stopped…
Mine went to Parrish Baker: Bright blue tears streaked her face with fury.
Find them all, over at MOTE!

Options in Abundance

The smell of grease and something she’d been told was ozone — whatever that was — filled the air, surpassing the underlying tang of metal. Charlie twisted her hand, as well as the tool that she gripped with raw fingertips, tightening the bolt a final time.

Satisfied, she wriggled backward, thankful for the trousers Kallina had recommended, even if they still felt strange. She was free, even while darting in dark places; dark places that rested themselves temporarily within the four-dimensional coordinates of spacetime as the ship transited by the grace of stardust and mechanical good fortune.

“Oh, you fixed it already?” The voice of the woman in question rang with a hollow echo down the metal shaft. “Good, I’m too stiff and fat to fit down that tunnel properly these days, and I just don’t trust the bots to get it right either.” She sighed. “I’m getting too old to pilot alone.”

“Mechanical work is satisfying,” Charlie replied, and winced at the echo before kicking her feet free and onto the bridge. She pulled her head out, nodded to her mentor, and used the free end of her bandana to wipe the grease from her hands. “It’s practical, not to mention it’s certainly making me more useful than I’ve ever been so far.”

It wasn’t the first time Kallina had indicated there was a place for her aboard the Wyvern, Charlie thought later. She sat on her bunk, dangling the hypnotape headphones from her sore fingertips. It wouldn’t be a bad life, at least from what she’d seen so far, especially since Kallina was well established as a trader. Eventually, she would presumably move beyond mechanical repair to take the lead.

It was a good path, she knew. A safe option.

Charlie laid back, rested her head on the thin pillow, and began her next lesson.

***

I really should have restarted this draft by looking at what I’d actually written approximately five million years ago…but hey, thanks to Parrish Baker, it continues again this week! My prompt went to nother Mike; check everything out, over at MOTE!

Welcome to the Team

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘watch out for falling angels?’ Sir? Sir?” Charlie shook the handheld comm several times before shoving it into her flight suit’s bicep pocket. “Good thing the Lieutenant was done. I see what they mean about military issue equipment.”

Butler leaned against the wall outside the comms pod in a poor attempt at playing casual.

Oh, it might have fooled someone who hadn’t grown up watching for signs of Father’s temper. She noted tense shoulders, the position ready to spring forward the epitome of coiled lethality, a pen casually twirling in one hand that served as an impromptu weapon.

“It’s the same everywhere.” He shrugged. “Standard equipment is just barely good enough.”

“I wouldn’t have known.” The words were sour. Her life might have been unhappily restrictive – and about to become moreso, had her father been able to marry her off to that aged haroom’zadeh successfully – but before she’d run for the spaceport and the stars, she’d enjoyed the benefits of wealth and custom work.

Such as wealth had been, on a planet she’d come to learn was considered wildly backward, but at least her jewelry had paid their fees here. Her mother’s indulgence for offworld tutors had barely covered the basics, and hypnolearning tapes had been all that had gotten her education qualified for basic training by the journey’s end.

Butler hadn’t been much better off. At least he’d been used to being physical, as part of her father’s guard, while she’d had to fight for every horseback ride and chaperoned promenade. His brow furrowed in a look she’d come to know all too well on the flight here.

“Nothing about coming here has been what we expected.”

She blew out her cheeks with a sigh, red bangs that needed a trim to stay in regs fluttering. Charlie made a note to take care of that before heading to their next assignment. “So. Ell-tee told me we’ll stick together again after training. I’m still shocked we’ve managed to stick together as long as we have.”

His shoulder twitched. “I might have some insider information.”

Charlie leaned forward, snatched the pen from his hand, and threatened him with it. “Spill.”

“Not here. Over a drink.”

She mused upon how far she’d come in six short months as they settled into the bar and waited for the bot to pour their drinks. Uniformed, physically active, and alone at a table with a man – even drinking. Although – she felt herself flush with mild embarrassment – a small portion, and barely alcoholic at that. Doora’s warnings about caution had struck home all too well.

Still, what had been unfathomable was enjoyable, even if she still wouldn’t partake without Butler nearby. She waited with barely contained impatience for him to return with their drinks before waving the stolen pen in his face. “Spill.”

He swatted the pen from its perilously close position near the tip of his nose. “First, we toast.”

“Fine.” She let out a sigh, and rolled her eyes, but let a grin peek through.

“To both of us heading to the 57th,” Butler said. He clinked his mug against hers, took a sip, and let out a rare smile of his own. “Known as the Fallen Angels.”

Charlie squealed, then cut her reaction to an excited whisper at his hand signal. “You do have intel.”

“I have RUMINT,” he corrected. “Rumors, put together from careless instructors’ tidbits, only some of which make sense, and none of which are proper intelligence.”

She waved a hand. “I’m aware. But all I have is a flight number and a masked planet name on the itinerary for my first military assignment. So spill. The details, not the beer.”

“No.” Butler leaned forward, his face grim. “You can’t get your hopes up. I swore to protect you, and that vow doesn’t end. I need to know that you can be independent, even if one of us is reassigned tomorrow.”

She raised her glass, took a sip, and – temporary courage acquired – pushed the mug aside. “On my honor as a Davarian.” The words coated her mouth like thick motor oil, six months foreign to her tongue.

“I think we’ve been paired.”

Charlie leaned in. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Rarely, two people are supposedly so complimentary that they’re partnered for special training. Which is what the Fallen Angels are known for. The first assignment that’s also a continued training and selection process.”

“For what?”

Butler shrugged and spun his mug in a circle of melted condensation. “That, I’ve no idea.”

***

Thanks for the falling/fallen angels, nother Mike! Check out what Marissa did with ancient space artifacts (and more!) over at More Odds Than Ends!

Weaponized Tentacles

“If you want something turned into a weapon, give it to a human,” Gorblach grumbled. He waved a translucent tentacle – pearlescent aqua today, after noisily ingesting four flitterbugs not an hour earlier – for emphasis.

Jerry ducked, and tossed a piece of popcorn at the Pluto native. “Watch it! You’ll knock over the vidscreen again.”

“See? That’s exactly my point.” The errant tentacle caught the kernel and absorbed it, tinging the tip with the faintest of yellows. “You just weaponized popcorn. Popcorn! Food of the gods. Sacrilege to waste it.”

“Oh, shut up. It wasn’t wasted, you just ate it.” Jerry handed Gorblach a Belgian brown ale. “Start the movie. What are we watching tonight?”

“An old classic,” Gorblach said gleefully. He set down the ale and used his tentacles to wrap a red bandana above his visual orbs. “It’s called ‘Rambo.’ From your Old Earth!”

***

This week’s MOTE prompt was from Padre (and he’s not wrong, we humans love our weaponization), while mine went to TA Leederman. Find them all, over at More Odds Than Ends!

The Awkward Adolescents of Wizurg Academy

“That was some sterling stirring,” Mikhail blurted. His face grew as red as Lila’s hair.

She didn’t have to quirk the usual eyebrow at him. Nor did she bother to look up from her cauldron.

No, instead the ever-present — and watchful — antique fire extinguishers floating over her shoulders managed to tilt themselves in a simultaneous expression of in loco parentis distrust, exasperation, and mild disappointment.

Especially Lefty. After six years, Mikhail could read their metallic body language well. Lame, said the tilt. Try again.

“Um, I mean.” He stopped, hands fumbling on the edge of his cauldron. “I’m stuck on this part of the potion. I can’t figure out when to stop on the sixth counterclockwise turn. It’s really finicky. How are you stopping at precisely the right moment?”

Lefty and George relaxed, then glowered as Lila gave him a grin and moved to show him the trick.

He gulped, and tried to radiate good intentions. Although…he suspected the extinguishers knew exactly what teenage boys thought about their occasionally flammable and vivacious charge.

***

This weeks’ sterling stirring prompt came from AC Young. Mine on nightengales went to nother Mike – find them all, over at MOTE!

The Hospitals of Hostis

“It’s not the big city,” Emma murmured, careful to keep her voice low lest the hum of other commuters take offense.

Her unofficial guide to the planet Hostis laughed, drawing a few curious glances from others on the trolley. “Ah, but it is!”

She blushed and hastened to add some detail. “I like that. It’s efficient enough that I have anything I need within a five minute walk without being overwhelming.” Emma’s mouth watered at the reminder of the corner store’s fresh burratarata, the specialty cheese from the pygmy space cows that had propagated across the colonies. “And it’s close enough to the farms that produce comes in regularly.”

Benj nodded. “At least for now, the plan’s to keep it that way. No need to develop supercities, like Old Earthers did. Keeps people in touch with the resources. Plus, keeps us in better harmony with the locals.” He paused, leaning against the hanging leather strap attached to the trolley’s rail. “You’ve been here…what, a week?”

“Ten days.”

“Enough time to adapt to the time zone and explore, not enough to venture past the spaceport’s outer zone.” There was no judgment in Benj’s tone, merely assessment. “Well, hang on. Let me comm the boss. It’s time for your tour.”

Scandalized, she let go of her own leather loop and tried to stop him. “I can’t call in! I just got here.”

“No, no,” Benj clarified. “We do this for everyone. You’re a little ahead of schedule. I’ll have him verify that you’re officially off today for local acclimation.” He grinned and waved the comm in her direction, eyes sparkling cheerily. “And now, so am I! Thanks.”

The trolley stopped and she stumbled, having given up her loop. Benj caught her with his free arm, comm still in hand, then deftly swooped her out of the way of the commuter traffic.

“But…”

“Quick, grab a seat on the bench before it fills up. We’ll do a couple more stops, then walk back.” He steered her toward a wooden bench, nudging her toward the window.

As the trolley continued with its new round of passengers, he leaned over and pointed to a oddly sprawling architectural monstrosity. Doors were inconsistently sized, as were windows and rooftops; one even looked to have perches on its disparate peaks.

“It looks like seven different buildings smashed together,” Emma ventured. “I quite like it, though I think I’d get lost quickly.”

He nodded. “Normally, the different races on Hostis have their own hospitals, which makes sense given colonization patterns. Only in the capital is the demand from each great enough to require a hospital catering to the needs of all races.” Benj winked. “So far!”

***

This week’s prompt about Hostis’ hospitals came from AC Young, while my prompt on squid with sprinkles went to nother Mike. Find them all, over at More Odds Than Ends.

Librarian Magic

Eight-and-a-half-year-old June Porter stood on tiptoe to see above the research desk. She could borrow the stool, or go to the regular low desk like the other kids in her class, but she liked Miss Ryan and wanted to say hello.

Besides, she didn’t need the stool, not really. She could see. Just barely, but it counted. Just like half-years counted. And if she could see over, no one could tell her she was too young for the research desk and send her back to the babies in the children’s section.

A smiling face under salt-and-pepper hair with perched bright red glasses popped into view, nestled at the top of a triangle of hands and elbows. “Hello, June.”

“Hi, Miss Ryan.” Her tongue always twisted a bit, mostly because she thought she might want to be like the research librarian someday. “I’m here for swords today.”

“Swords!” Nut-brown eyes blinked, then stared at the ceiling. “All right.” The head vanished. “Swords.”

Miss Ryan knows everything, June thought dreamily. The most powerful mage in the town was the librarian, no matter what her dad said – not that she was supposed to talk about magic, of course. The way information just appeared, as if out of thin air, captured between the pages of a book.

Although once, she’d asked what happened when the books were opened and the information escaped. The rest of the class thought that was hilarious, and her teacher had phoned home.

Mom had sat her down very seriously that evening, and Dad joined with a glass of something glowing almost gold that smelled a little different. But how was she supposed to know what was normal and what was forbidden to speak of outside the house? Her mother’s latest diary had wiped its data after the book was full, though June didn’t understand why it was always referred to as “correcting past wrongs.” Or why that meant she had to be homeschooled now.

Then again, she wouldn’t have met her new swordfighting instructor if she’d been stuck inside the boring yellow brick building like before.

“All right,” Miss Ryan’s voice came.

June jumped, a little guilty. Her new teacher kept talking about being aware of her surroundings, what her father called “situational awareness.” But the library was a safe place, and she’d let her guard down.

“A little bit of metallurgy,” Miss Ryan continued, “which is a book on different types of metals, because different eras made swords from different metals. An encyclopedia listing types of swords, plus an instruction book illustrating some basic poses. Forms. I’m not sure what they’re called, actually.” The glasses were on her nose now, and she shoved them upward. “A fiction book on sieges, which I’m told is quite realistic.”

“I’m sure it is,” June said after an awkward pause. “Thank you.”

“Well, I’ve never been in a siege,” Miss Ryan said. “I wouldn’t know. This one is on a famous general. He wasn’t a very nice man, but he was very good at taking things over. His name was Ghengis Khan.”

“Neat,” said June. She knew it wasn’t quite the right answer, but wasn’t sure what else to say. Maybe after she read the book.

It was enough. Miss Ryan nodded. “And this one is about a young girl who trades places with her brother and learns discipline so she can learn to fight.” A wink. “She’s also a magician.”

At that, her cheeks and eyes lifted with excitement, as if she didn’t need to balance on her toes any longer. “Cool!”

Beeps, and another look through the lenses. “That’ll do you?”

“For now.” June stretched upward to seize her prizes. “I’ll be back.”

***

I have another idea for this post on magical librarians from AC Young, but couldn’t resist the urge to laud the helpful librarians of my youth. My prompt on goats in the moat went to Leigh Kimmel. Find more, over at MOTE!

Time Has No Trouble

The voice crackling through her comm was soft and husky with sleep. “You get in okay?”

“Sure.” Carlie tightened her grip on the phone, wishing it was her husband’s hand. “Sorry about waking you up.”

Laughter, then some rustling that made her hotel room feel all the colder. “I refuse to let something as dumb as a timezone defeat me!” More rustling, and a click as he turned on the lamp. “Besides, I wanted to know you were in safe. How was the trip?”

“Uneventful, other than the usual demanding soul wanting to trade seats for a free upgrade.” She bit her lip. “As usual, I couldn’t sleep, I’m exhausted, and now I’m wandering around the hotel room barefoot in the dark.”

“That’s my girl, amped up at midnight.”

She wandered toward the window. “Almost midnight for me, almost time to get up for you.”

“Best alarm clock ever. You should try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Carlie tugged on the curtain and stared into the courtyard. Other than a few solar lights and a fountain glimmering under the moon, it was filled with shadows. Two diehards stood near the bar, men from the shapes. More fellow travelers, presumably finishing drinks and hoping to court a temporary oblivion until jet lag faded and a sense of normalcy approached. “Wish they’d been able to send someone else.”

“They sent the best.” Bryan yawned. “I miss you, but you’ve got this.”

She gasped. “Bry – baby – Bryan -” She leaned forward and smacked her head off the window. Jolting back, she dropped the curtain. “Bryan, I think I just saw someone in the courtyard get stabbed.“

“Carlie. Carlie. Listen to me.” His voice was wide awake and alert now. “What was that noise?”

“I hit my head.” She pressed her free hand to her aching head. “He just – the other man just fell to the ground.”

“You hit your head on the window? Looking out?”

She rubbed the spot. “Mmmhmm.”

“Hard enough I heard it through the phone. He might have too, then. Carlie, get your shoes and jacket on. Grab your keys. Charger if you can find it. Keep the lights off.”

She darted to the gym clothes she’d laid out in hopeful anticipation. Hopping awkwardly, she nearly fell trying to pull on sneakers. “Bry?”

“Can you look out the window without moving the curtain? Without showing yourself?”

She tilted her head. “Bry, I see a face. He’s looking up. Up at my window. He knows. He knows I saw.”

“Memorize that face, babe, as much as you can. Tell me about it.”

“It’s so dark.”

“Try.”

“Pale, pointed chin, dark heavy eyebrows.” She paused. “Dark clothes. Maybe a track suit? Silver at the wrist.”

“Which one?”

“Right.”

“That’s enough for now. Get out. Head for the stairs. Pull the fire alarm on your way. Be conspicuous. Make sure others see you. Talk to others, complain. Stay with the crowd. When the fire department shows up, shout for Gerrard. Tell him what you saw. No one else, all right? Only Gerrard. You can go with him.”

“Bry?” She fumbled the door’s safety latch. “How do you know all of this?”

His voice was gentle. “We’ll talk when I get there. Stay alive until then, baby.” Silence, and then an apologetic noise. “I have to make some calls. I’ll ring you soon. You can do this. Now run, baby. Keep moving. You know what to do. I love you.”

***
This week’s prompt was from Marissa Marinello: “I refuse to let something as dumb as a time zone defeat me!” Meanwhile, mine on apothecary advertisements went to Becky Jones. Find all of the Odd Prompt crew’s weekly offerings over at More Odds Than Ends, and don’t forget you can join in!

Neighborly-like

This prompt is a follow-on to Inheritance.

“Aunt Cecelia would have liked this,” I said softly, mostly to my teacup. Immediately uncomfortable saying that about a woman I’d barely known, I rose from the kitchen table and snagged empty plates with only toast crumbs and a bit of smeared egg.

Eggs I didn’t remember purchasing, eggs fresh and brown and blue, piled in a bowl rather than a carton from the store. I cleared my throat rather than think too hard about it. “You’re sure you had enough? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Of course,” Josiah answered. We’d spent the night talking in front of the fire and waiting for the thunder to clear, but he looked as energized as I felt despite the lack of sleep. “And – you know – your grand-aunt took her turn at storm cleanup, just like the rest of us. She was sturdy, and she knew her limits. The final few years, she took care of us all. Mostly feeding us, but also telling us when to stop and sit before we fell over.”

“It’s what neighbors do,” I ventured, facing the sink and its window – which showed a distinct lack of neighbors, given the distance and isolation. All the more reason to be neighborly.

“Ah, but she knew, somehow.”

I nodded, still gazing away, then turned to meet his eyes. It was time he stopped holding back, given that we’d spent the night together – even if it had been more up to propriety’s standards than that phrase sounded. “Seems like this house does, too.”

“Ah, well.” There was a bit of silence. “The land’s always been a bit uncanny here, or so the stories go.”

I nodded again. “Well, that’s a start.” Silence dragged, and he finished his coffee before I gave up and let out a sigh. “Fine, boots on and let’s go see how bad the damage is.”

The oak was just as massive as I remembered, for all that this place was new to me. Now shattered, the wood splintered from lightning and just barely twisted – in a way that looked like it’d been pushed aside – sufficient to avoid Josiah’s work truck.

Josiah had the barn’s chainsaw in hand soon enough, but after the first coughing attempt to start it, my eyes grew wide.

“Wait!”

Something had moved, and what I’d thought was a squirrel or a baby bird was all the more rare and unexpected for being neither.

The tiny wyvern huddled in the crook of the tree was doing its best to blend in with the leaves, still green but starting to wilt and turn their undersides up in the morning steam.

I held out a hand, and the wyvern cowered back. Josiah stepped behind me, not yet having spotted why I’d shouted.

A hiss alerted us to a second set of eyes, this pair aggressively golden and protective, slightly larger.

“Tell me, Josiah,” I said evenly. “Why might this uncanny land think it’s time to reveal the baby dragons living in the front yard, hmm?”

***

Thanks to Becky for the wyvern prompt! Mine went to Padre, on the one year anniversary.

Find more, over at MOTE!

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