"The Mourning Trees" by Peadar O Guilin
"Stand at Llieva" by Joseph A McCullough V
"There's a Hole in October" by Todd McAulty
"The Dead Man…" by S.C. Smith
"Law and Justice" by Michael H. Payne
"La Desterra" by Jennifer Busick
"North" by Brian H. Hopkins
"Barbarian Instinct" by Don Bassingthwaite
"Two-Skins" by Shawn L. Johnson
"Tumithak of the Corridors" by Charles R. Tanner
"The Mourning Trees" by Peadar O Guilin
"Can you save my son?"
"If he lives, and–" He looked Moya up and down. "And if it pleases me."
"He lives, sir. He's caught in a Mourning Tree."
"Ah." He frowned, but then his face lit up again. "Come back with me to my house, pretty one. I swear to you, an hour in my arms and you will forget you ever bore him. It is the least I can do to console you for your loss."
Moya's husband is about to beat her for being lazy when distant screams are heard. Fearing for her son, Owen, Moya and the other villagers trace the missing children to a mysterious tree–the Mourning Tree. Anyone who touches the tree will become stuck. Anyone who touches someone stuck to the Mourning Tree will also become stuck as the Mourning Tree slowly draws them in to be digested. Moya is ridiculed when she decides to seek for power that might free her son: even the mighty ancients were powerless against the magic of the Mourning Tree, designed to kill in as slow and as painful a manner as possible.
Moya journeys to the City of Rosaveel where she hopes to find the power to free Owen at the University. Her first attempt to get aid from a magician at the University gets a proposition but little else. In the bowels of the University, Moya will discover a dark secret behind the power of the University magicians.
"Mourning" is a tale of Power rooted in the exploitation of the People, then dramatically reversed at the end. It's one for which I would normally have a great deal of sympathy. The prose is easy to read, the impending death of a beloved son is one that evokes my sympathy and the plot shows thought, but the technical and philosophical issues are more than I can overcome.
I have trouble with stories in which the character is required to be stupid. Moya leaves Owen and the tree with with a clear expectation of how long she has to free Owen before he starves to death. In the city we learn that she already knew the tree digests people, it just didn't come up. Later, she realizes she doesn't know how fast the tree digests people.
Having Moya suddenly recall this essential question when it is too late to for her to do anything is cheap. If she can think of it later, I need a damn good reason why she didn't think of it sooner. This is a false quest: there is no hope.
This is a puzzle story in which the limits–the unknowns which must be solved–keep changing. My guess is they aren't changing, they're just being revealed slowly. I was frustrated to come up with half a dozen potential solutions, only to have them eliminated as the story progressed, slowly revealing information that should have been presented to the reader in the opening situation. Not a recommended solution to the problem of exposition.
My philosophical issue is with voyuerism. The beating at the beginning, the repeated attempts to get Moya to whore herself out don't particularly contribute to my understanding of Moya or her situation, nor are they essential dramatic elements that heighten the tension or provide obstacles. They're just present to titillate the audience. I emerged feeling morally fouled. I kept imagining what Jessica Amanda Salmonson would have said as a writer of adventure fantasy. It wasn't pretty.
On the other hand, the University and its dark secret are sufficiently heinous that it comes as a joy and a relief when Moya turns the tables and emerges to kick ass.
"Stand at Llieva" by Joseph A McCullough V
"Stevan slammed his fist against the wall and screamed at the floor, seeing the death of his friend over and over again in his mind."
Steven is a Targeteer, a soldier with a conscience and a musket opposing the tyranny of the Talon far from his native lands. Outnumbered seven hundred to one and facing mages more powerful than their own pitiful Roulos, Steven and the men of Hispania know it is just a matter of time before they are overwhelmed. Still, there is an old legend that claims God will intercede when the church bells ring.
I'm a fan of impossible escapes and daring rescues and I wish I could say this was one of them. Steven is likable and the odds are overwhelming, important ingredients for heroic deeds. But the enemy general attacks in a way that will lose him the most troops, the arrows of the enemy always fall short, the Oriental mages–supposedly the best in the world–appear to have only one kind of spell, and a stone tower rolling down hill sends the surviving enemy troops running back to their ships.
I prefer my heroes plucky, clever and resourceful although I'm happy to take "lucky" from time to time. I like to see them succeed against intelligent, resourceful foes and impossible odds. But the way the attacking troops conveniently retire from battle turn them into sham hazards and reduces Stevan's achievements to paper certificates of glory. The outcome is never in doubt: it hangs visibly on the whim of the author.
"There's a Hole in October" by Todd McAulty
"I lift my head a little and see the thing that was once human circling the truck, enraged. Are the children inside? It's getting harder to think. I raise a hand to my face, and its so covered in blood I can't see my fingers at all."
Lassiter is relaxing at a cafe before crossing the border into Canada. The crossing would be a lot easier if he wasn't 5% caffeine by volume and if he didn't have $15,000 worth of drugs in his trunk. He's so stressed that he's sure he'll blow the customs check at the border when a bunch of young kids hit Lassiter up for a ride. They're in trouble and Lassiter can't bring himself to say "no."
What they haven't told Lassiter is their last ride–a trucker–just died in a fireball wreck.
Smooth, easy prose, a hero who declares his own life as "dogshit" with an attitude that probably keeps even him guessing whether he's going to do the right thing made this a surprisingly enjoyable story, one of my favorite stories so far this year.
Lassiter daydreams frequently about the upcoming border crossing which I found more annoying than informative or revealing. Fortunately, these unnecessary diversions were easily forgotten when the main story returned. The backstory and details about the drug deal also gave me more than I needed to know. Who cares. Todd McAulty's ear for his characters, especially Lassiter, made this a thoroughly enjoyable story.
"The Dead Man…" by S.C. Smith
The dead man awakens at the ferry where Charon takes the souls of the dead across the river. But things have changed.
I couldn't find a quote to extract from this ultra-short that wouldn't ruin the surprise. Short, pithy and shocking: all you could want in a short-short.
"Law and Justice" by Michael H. Payne
"Tiger sighed. 'A leopard lad nearly killed a young water buffalo last night. I'm here for the leopard's execution.'
'Execution?' Leopard blinked at him.
'Tragic, but the Law is the Law.'"
Leopard is an enhanced, intelligent animal, a minor god in charge of changing the leaves with the change of seasons. While on vacation, he stumbles on a situation between a carnivore–the young leopard–and what we would consider the natural, if outlawed, prey–the young water buffalo–that will escalate until it results in the execution that Tiger must judge, and a battle between the Tiger of Law and the Squirrel of Justice.
This story is part mystery, part social commentary and part metaphor. The mystery is what really happened between the young water buffalo and the young leopard. The social commentary is how the prejudice of the elder water buffalo is passed on to the younger generation, resulting in a situation where a life is at stake. The metaphor, the struggle between the Tiger and the Squirrel points out how blind following of the Law is not a good thing.
I found the story rather diffuse. None of the three elements–mystery, social commentary, metaphor–is particularly strong. Despite the opportunity and the length of the story, there's not much exploration or elaboration. The precipice of Law v. Justice is dismissed as the animalistic, sexual attraction between Squirrel and Tiger. The main attraction of the story is the exotic setting in which the normal order is inverted: predators are the nice guys and the prey become the villains.
"La Desterra" by Jennifer Busick
"It is a dangerous thing to bind the hands of a magus; it gives us little control over the elements that seek to shape the world through us. By the time Don Regello sought me out the next morning, I was weak from thirst and the constant battle with myself."
Esther Martin is a mage, traveling under an assumed name and identity–John Martin. When her ship is attacked by pirates, her crewmates hand her over. Aboard "La Desterra," she tries to conceal her gender while frustrating the designs of her captors as much as she dares.
This story is one of accepting identity and destiny, of Esther finding the courage and the company in which to take her name and her power. Its a wonderfully drawn alternate universe with engaging characters. Jennifer Bussick's treatment of magic is unique and compelling.
"Desterra" was also a story that I greatly enjoyed. My comments are more about what this story isn't than what it is.
This reads more like the backstory for a novel than a short story. When the opening is about capture, I expect a story of struggle and escape. That's not what happens here: the plans are all about Don Regelio. It's his dream to free his native land from invaders that is the compelling dramatic element that drives the narrative. Esther is just an observer. Despite the contributions of her power and her job as viewpoint character, she's just along for the ride: when I look at the contribution she makes to the plot line, she could, sadly, be replaced by a large cannon without affecting how the story will turn out.
Sadly, for Esther is a strong, vital and engaging character who deserves to serve more central role in this story that brings not only her freedom but finally an acceptance of her identity. If this were a longer work, I would want to see Esther leave the wings, where she is a secondary character, and take center stage.
"North" by Brian H. Hopkins
"Bilateral retinoblastoma the doctors called it. A cancer. There were more than a hundred small tumores in Joey's right eye; slightly less in his left. Aggressive. Invasive. Lethal. Impervious to chemotherapy.
He was three years old when they removed his eyes."
Joey has lost his eyes, then his mother. His father moves them north to British Columbia for a fresh start. When they go out to cut a tree for Christmas, they meet an Indian who awakens Joey to a heightened awareness of his remaining senses. Its a skill that will come in handy when Joey's father slips over a cliff and Joey must go get help.
A nice read with an uplifting ending. The viewpoint of someone who has lost their sight is consistent and does a good job of bringing the experience to the reader. Quite a bit of emphasis falls on the father. I would gladly sacrifice some of the Father's concerns and interests regarding his departed wife in order to focus more on Joey.
"Barbarian Instinct" by Don Bassingthwaite
"'Gods don't make a man or a woman, city girl. We make ourselves.'
Cacia managed a wavering grin. 'Is that a barbarian instinct?'
'The very core of it.' The Northman's eyes, dark and steady, met hers. 'You can only find strength within yourself.'"
Cacia is a loved and indulged daughter of a well respected city merchant. Pawel is the Barbarian fighter hired to guard her and guide her from the city to safety. When the invading Arkins find their trail, the two unlikely companions will have to overcome their differences in order to escape and survive.
Cacia and Pawel are both engaging characters, their situation is credible, their interaction set off sparks and their ultimate acceptance of the value of then other feels solid. A nice tale well told.
"Two-Skins" by Shawn L. Johnson
"All the while he told himself, I will not cry. I will not despair. My father was a Child of the Bear, and I was born of the Wolf. I will not cry, now or ever…
If only he had his second skin, then he would show the humans what it meant to anger a Child of Wolf."
"The boy" comes from a race who are chosen by spirits to gain the ability to change form. "The boy" is chosen to become a Child of Wolf. He fails his first attempt to change skins, a common occurrence.
His village is attacked, most are killed including his father. His mother escapes and "the boy" is taken prisoner. With the few remaining survivors, he is taken to the arena where they are pitted against other beasts. With the aid of the wolf he is pitted against, he finally discovers the ability to change shape.
When he recovers from a blackout, he has slain the leader, the troops are rushing to kill him and he calls out to his deceased father that he's coming to join him.
Every once in a while, I run across a story that fails completely to engage me as a reader. "Skins" came close. I responded somewhat to the portion in the middle where "the boy" is pitted against the wild wolf in the arena and must gain her co-operation.
At a technical level: almost half of the pages are devoted to flashback. There must be a better way to weave in the few details contained in the reminisces.
Point of view. Ramu is "the boy" for most of the time we share his point of view. When you share the point of view of a character, you are privy to their innermost thoughts, dreams, desires. I suspect thinking of one's self as "the boy" is the mark of mental health pathology.
I understand this is supposed to be a literary device, marking the point at which Ramu fully accepts his identity as a Child of Wolf but I am convinced there are ways to achieve the same effect that also allow for the reader to experience an authentic voice for Ramu.
I found the ending so implausible–suddenly, the human leader is dead–that it robbed me of any joy that I might have felt that Ramu has finally discovered and embraced his heritage.
Despite an appeal to the heritage of action adventure, "Skins" consistently evades action and conflict. I can't remember when I have been so out of tune with a climax. The reader is expected to believe that Ramu feels satisfaction and joy as he is about to be killed and supposed to join him in that sensation. Not me. First, Ramu's joy at his imminent death strikes a false note with me. A warrior's joyful death in battle is a traditional component of heroic adventure literature. Here it feels assigned rather than an expression of the character's emotional landscape. Second, I'm pretty separated from Ramu and what I experienced as tragedy: the despair of a meaningless death. Ramu has killed a bunch of soldiers, even the leader. So what? At an intellectual level, they'll just be replaced. At an emotional level, it happens off screen. I don't even really get a chance to care.
In many ways, I thought the telling of Ramu's story would benefit from study of the techniques of sustained action found in the next story…
"Tumithak of the Corridors" by Charles R. Tanner
"There is growing up among men in these days a hopeless superstition to the effect that man can never conquer, and must never attempt even to battle with the shelks, and it is to combat this superstition that the author here writes the story of the conquest of earth , in the hope that at some future time, a man will arise who will have the courage to face the conquerors of Man and again do battle. In the hope that this man will appear and that he may know the creatures against whom he fights, this story is written."
That man, of course, will be Tumithak. Man has been driven underground by the technologically superior shelk, invaders from Venus. Thumiak will face numerous challenges, not the least of which will be other humans in their variety of responses to the shelk threat. Some humans hide, others collaborate, some accept the predations of the shelk. Until Tumithak, none fight back.
This is a reprint from 1932, the great age of science fantasy or science wonder stories, back when there wasn't such a deep distinction between science fiction and fantasy. The style is pseudo-archaic, the tone epic, almost high fantasy. Tumithak is an intelligent barbarian of the tunnels, a worthy companion to Conan and Tarzan, and his quest is to rouse humanity and save the planet.
I enjoyed the story although I was left wondering how this style meshes with the expectations of contemporary readers. I can get through most Shakespeare pretty well but I wondered if this wasn't a big–and long–dose all at once.
It's straight out action. There's no touchy-feely going on and those who have come to expect radical emotional change in the main character over the course of the narrative will be disappointed. But I was pleasantly surprised as how well Charles R. Tanner was able to sustain the reader's interest with a relatively small palette of narrow escapes and risky ventures.
You won't find me searching EBay for old copies of "Super Science Stories" so I can get caught up on Tumithak but secretly I'm looking forward to reading more in the next issue of Black Gate.
Black Gate is a cornucopia of reading–over 200 pages. This is a beautiful magazine with high production values. Easy to read. I admired and enjoyed the dedication to adventure literature as more than either "then" or "now," but a field of depth and history. Of course this issue contained reviews of of recent fantasy releases. This issue also contained excellent capsule reviews of fantasy role playing games, both current and historical, media tie-ins such as books written in the FRPG Forgotten Realms; and graphic novels both current and historical. The emphasis on how the past of the field relates to the present is presented with love and care in a way that makes sense. There's been some discussion from time to time about how to encourage readers to be better readers, more thoughtful and with a greater knowledge of the depth of the field.
Black Gate is already doing it.