A Flash in the Pan? Read online

  Then this reality would burn.

  He wondered how many of the Lost had not been weak-willed as everyone assumed. It was his mind that was securing the wormhole and that meant there was only one sure way he could stop the current sequence of events. Had his Master been faced with the same choice? He hoped not, because the right thing to do was clearly hazardous to his health and he did not have a predisposition towards noble self-sacrifice.

  He cast about for another solution, a way to save both himself and the universe he'd spent a lifetime growing fond of. A bead of sweat travelled a meandering path down his face. Around him the sounds of the bridge crew took on a sharper intensity. The wormhole was only moments away from stabilising. The external sense of hunger and anticipation filled him until he could barely sort his own feelings from those of the invading force. The act of breathing became a conscious chore as he tried to force his panic down. There was no time to think of a last minute piece of brilliance, no rabbits to be pulled out of hats. Hell, he couldn't even find a hat. With an effort of will he took a deep breath, let it out and faced the truth. No matter what happened next he would be gone.

  'For fuck's sake,' he muttered, then inserted a catastrophic discordance into his end of the wormhole link. He smiled as the anger of thwarted ambition crashed over him, then awareness drained away.

  ***

  'He's waking up.'

  Orlando struggled to push his consciousness towards the voices that echoed in a barrage of vaguely medical sounding terms. Despite his dazed state, he felt somehow more real than he had in days. A gnawing emptiness gripped his stomach. He embraced the feeling as evidence he must have survived the collapse of the wormhole, given that to the best of his knowledge dead people didn't feel hungry.

  The concerned face of a doctor swam into view. He knew he had a duty to warn the Guild not to let anyone follow in his footsteps, but he took a moment to appreciate his own continued existence. A revolutionary new Navigation technique that would allow travel between alternate universes, the fact that he had saved all of humanity from a terrifying fate and his survival against all odds. If that didn't secure his future in the Guild, he didn't know what would.

  As if waiting for joy to manifest his momentum chose that moment to falter, the journey towards lucidity slowing as if a mental gravity had taken hold. As he reached the apex of his alertness and began to fall back into confusion, he threw all his energy into one attempt to speak.

  'Don't...,' he croaked.

  Author's note

  This was one of the first short stories I wrote, which was eventually picked up by a new magazine Robot and Raygun. Unfortunately it seems that Robot and Raygun is no longer a going concern, but the story is still up on their website at https://robotandraygun.com.

  I started writing this story as a part of a short story competition that had “craft” as a theme. I decided that weaving as a means of opening trans-dimensional wormholes was something I could get behind.

  It was a very early story, and I struggled a lot with it (rewriting the end quite a few times in particular). This was the first piece of mine that someone was actually willing to pay for (albeit a very small amount). Being paid for my writing was a very good feeling!

  Showdown

  Scouting duty in modern day semi-rural-almost-suburbia had to be amongst the most boring tasks in the world. Honestly, when he signed up to join a dark lord's conquering force Jack had expected more... well, more conquering for a start. And pillage. There was definitely supposed to be a decent amount of pillage. Not this "native scout" crap.

  'Anything new to report?'

  And why the hell did they have to stick him with this bloody euro-trash toady? The way the bloke acted you'd think he was part of the elite royal guard, instead of a two man team watching a rundown farmhouse. Still Jack knew he had to be careful, this idiot was better connected than he was. Third cousin to the fourth in command of the second brigade. Or something like that. More importantly, he was petty enough to use his minor connections to repay any perceived slight. Time to pour on the charm.

  'Sorry mate. I think I caught a glimpse of the third one an hour or so ago, but haven't seen a thing since then. They’re slippery little buggers, for sure.'

  'We've been here for six days. Methinks it is time to report back.'

  Methinks? Who uses methinks in a sentence? Tosser. Jack scratched at a particularly itchy patch of fur, the ridges of his webbed toes bringing temporary relief to the irritated skin. He'd been too long away from the water.

  'Right you are mate. Just let me get my stuff.'

  As he packed, Jack gazed at the object of their week-long scrutiny. It seemed like an ordinary farm. Not for the first time, he wondered could have possibly attracted his new lord's attention to such an unremarkable target. Maybe someone really important and very clever was hiding in plain sight. If so, it was a bloody good disguise.

  ***

  The whistle of the kettle set Jennifer's heart racing. How long had she been sitting there? New shadows had reshaped the room, rendering it almost unrecognisable. Her hands gripped the arms of the recliner tight enough to send shooting pain through the joints of her fingers.

  The soothing sounds of the radio swam into her awareness. The distraction of classical music, deep and sonorous, slowed the rapid fire thudding in her chest and allowed her to get her bearings.

  She didn't remember putting the kettle on, but a cup of tea would be nice.

  She rose and levered herself along towards the kitchen, sleep still numbing her limbs. As she reached the door her foot caught on the unseen edge of the lino, but somehow she managed to move her cane fast enough to stay upright. Her heart recommenced its adrenaline fuelled staccato. It wouldn't do to take a tumble at her age. Where on earth were her glasses?

  A pot stood on the benchtop, tea already nestled in its bulbous depths. She must have laid it out when she put the kettle on. A stop at the fridge yielded the usual fresh milk. Jennifer hadn't been able to summon the energy to go shopping for a few weeks, but generous neighbours kept dropping food over in the evenings while she slept. She left money out when she remembered.

  As the tea steeped, she gazed out the window across her spacious lands with all its kennels, chicken runs and fenced off pens. Her property was on the edge of a city that crept relentlessly outwards. Already developers had started sniffing around, silver tongues carrying offers to make her land part of the next suburban paradise. Even worse, her lack of immediate family had attracted distant relatives, their greedy eyes marking out future windfalls. The thought of them profiting while the creatures in her care were left homeless made her sick to her stomach.

  With a shake of her head, Jennifer dismissed her morbid thoughts. For the time being she still had both room and health enough to look after her adopted wildlife. Her eyesight wasn't what it was, but it seemed like they'd all been fed and watered. That Daniels boy must have come around again. He was usually a lazy one, it was good to see him taking his work seriously. She must remember to leave some money out for him too.

  Cup of tea in hand and unable to think of any chores that might need doing, Jennifer shuffled back towards her recliner. Perhaps a nap was in order.

  ***

  'Bring me my damn armour!'

  The demand echoed around the cavern, sending minions scurrying like ants. Misthrado, self-styled Lord of the Underworld, sighed. He could only hope that what his Fae legions lacked in intelligence and coordination, they could make up for with unprecedented variety. Royal families throughout the rest of the world had found it convenient to exile their undesirable elements to this isolated landmass at the bottom of the world. Creatures that would have ripped each other apart on sight in the hinterlands of Europe had bonded here over a sense of shared hardship. Hundreds of boggarts, gnomes, trolls and more seethed and swirled in the space before him. Even a couple of local bunyips had joined his growing ranks. The Fae world had never seen an army such as his.

  He t
urned to a group of his lieutenants and kept his voice menacing. 'Have you found a target for our first attack?'

  A cyclops stepped forward. Sandrath's place in the inner circle had been won by a combination of cruel efficiency and a talent for expressing public reverence for his leader's prowess. He gave an elaborate bow. Misthrado found this attempt at a rage-averting display of deference... gratifying.

  'Of course, your majesty,' Sandrath began. 'Our scouts have confirmed that the old woman who runs the animal shelter on the edge of the city has kobolds in her service. She has taken in so many strays over the years, it was inevitable that she attracted a few household spirits. Even though kobolds are almost always invisible we've managed to identify three distinct individuals.'

  Misthrado frowned. 'Three kobolds don't sound like much of a challenge.'

  Sandrath bowed again. 'As you say, your majesty. However, kobolds are fierce in the defence of their chosen households. And you were... adamant that we should only arrange a brief live training exercise for the untried members of the third brigade before we move on to crush the light Fae that live in the city.'

  Misthrado smiled as he contemplated his glorious campaign. Once he had taken a few suburbs, the dark Fae would flock to his banner. Soon, the whole country would be his. The humans, with their technology and stubborn blindness to the supernatural world, would not last long once he controlled the sources of power buried deep in the bones of this ancient continent.

  ***

  The windowpanes shuddered as if a truck was racing past on the nearby highway, though Jennifer couldn't hear any engine noise. She lay back in the recliner, a blanket covering her lap. She must have fallen asleep.

  The shutters were all closed against the twilight streaming through her open front door. As she rose she felt an all too rare stability. Tentacles of cold evening air curled across her bare arms, making her shiver. She closed the door and made her way to the kitchen, where a cheerful fire was already burning. She drifted across the kitchen and sank into a chair beside the fireplace with an audible sigh.

  The house began to creak as the wind picked up. A frown settled on Jennifer's face. It was unusual to have storms at this time of year. She contemplated getting up to look outside, but the stabilising force that had supported her moments before now seemed to have abandoned her.

  Outside, a dog began to howl. One by one the other animals joined in and the noise built until a veritable cacophony assaulted her ears, vying with the wind for decibel supremacy. She struggled up and made her way towards the front door. Something was spooking them and she needed to find out what it was if she was going to have any peace this evening.

  ***

  The closer Misthrado got to the old residence, the lower his already rock-bottom expectations sank. The house was unassuming, the polar opposite of the kind of grandeur to which he aspired. Not a fitting location for his first conquest. Still, no one would criticise his early battlegrounds when he achieved his ultimate victory.

  His army coiled around him like a spring ready for release. Grizzled sergeants kept troops in line, and Misthrado grinned at their barely restrained desire to do damage. The ground rumbled with the vibration of his Fae army moving into position.

  Nothing moved in the house, and a single source of light shone out from the edges of the front windows. It was so still he could almost believe the scouts had got it wrong, except for the state of repair of the dwelling.

  It was good. Suspiciously good. By all accounts, the old woman lived here by herself. There should have been signs of disrepair, of small jobs gone unnoticed and undone. Instead, every part of this should-be-decrepit property shouted "thorough maintenance routine". The grass short and healthy. The front porch in solid and serviceable condition. Doors hung neatly on their frames and windows polished to a shine.

  Yes, they were here, Misthrado was sure of it. He stepped to the front of his army and pulled out his sword.

  'Come out little kobolds,' he yelled. 'Surrender and your deaths will be fast and clean.'

  He hoped they would put up a fight. A surrender followed by a quick slaughter would not teach the army anything. Still, he had to practice his ultimatums as much as his army formations.

  For a moment nothing stirred, then the front door squealed open.

  ***

  The door fought against Jennifer, the handle slippery in her grip. She didn't understand what was wrong. It had always opened so smoothly before. She wrestled it into submission and stepped out into the dying light. Swirling dust brought tears to her eyes. Indistinct shapes moved before her as she pawed at her face. She leaned back against the door frame for balance.

  'Is anyone there?' she asked, hating the frailty of her voice even as it escaped her lips. The frantic whining of her animals continued to swell and merge with the wailing of the wind. Their fear was contagious, and Jennifer began to tremble in response. What was going on? She'd never seen the animals this riled before, and certainly not by the wind no matter how fast it came up.

  Half heard sounds, like the mutterings of a distant crowd, slid around the animal noises. Jennifer strained to hear, trying to decide whether her ears were playing tricks on her.

  She was about to retreat inside when a clear voice rang out.

  ***

  'Show yourselves now or the old lady dies!'

  Misthrado was out of patience. He was the future ruler of this continent and probably the world, and a few pathetic kobolds would not appear at his command. He summoned three of the unblooded warriors from the third brigade and sent them towards the house with a gesture. He'd see how long the kobolds would stay hidden once he put the head of their bonded household in real danger.

  His henchmen materialised onto the mortal plane and he watched with pleasure as the old woman fell to her knees.

  ***

  Jennifer stared in horror as three misshapen monsters resolved out of the dirt cloud and lurched towards her. The strength bled away from her legs and moments later the rough surface of the front veranda scraped against her knees. As deformed and individually hideous as they were, all three wore a common uniform like they were members of some mutated army.

  The lead mutant drew a long knife, his warped teeth lending his grin a particular viciousness. 'Never killed a human before,' he slurred.

  Fear lent Jennifer's mind a clarity of thought that had eluded her for years. She knew she should run, should get back into the house and lock the doors. But the shimmer of the fading light of the sun along the knife's quicksilver blade held her attention for the few vital seconds where she might have escaped. The hideous trio mounted the stairs. Jennifer knew that the day where her charges would need to fend for themselves had come even sooner than she had expected.

  At that exact moment, all the animals stopped their bleating.

  The creatures paused, concerned by the sudden absence of sound. They looked around before resuming their approach, albeit more cautiously than before. The arm holding the knife rose high in the air. Jennifer closed her eyes.

  Nothing happened.

  After a few moments she opened her eyes again. Between her and the attackers stood three new figures. They were small, about the size of the Daniels boy. Their bodies seemed thicker than was entirely normal, with big ears that stuck out in a way that would have been comical in any other situation. Reddish skin confirmed her suspicion that they were not entirely human. Dressed in old clothes that had seen better days, they held in their hands a variety of farm implements fashioned into makeshift weapons.

  'Our home,' one of them said.

  ***

  Misthrado's heart quickened as the kobolds made their last minute appearance. He watched in glee as his minions launched into action. The resulting fight was short, fast and bloody. The kobolds were on home ground and fighting for their household. No quarter was sought or given. At the end of the exchange, two of his henchmen lay still on the ground and the third was scrambling back towards the main army. One of the kobo
lds nursed what looked like a broken arm and the other two had scrapes and cuts, but nothing life threatening. They were also better armed now, having abandoned their amateur weapons and recovered the knives of the fallen.

  Even though his soldiers had lost the initial encounter, he was perversely pleased. At least this would provide a challenge for some of his troops. Misthrado motioned towards Sandrath, who bowed as he came forward.

  'Send in the third brigade,' said Misthrado. 'I want those kobold heads laid out on the ground before me by the time the sun finishes setting.'

  'It shall be done, your majesty,' replied Sandrath.

  Misthrado watched in satisfaction as his troops began to line up.

  ***

  Jennifer looked at her saviours. They shuffled their feet and seemed incapable of making eye contact. Up close, the odours of the shelter hung thickly on them, of manure and fur and feed. With her distress induced lucidity still intact she made connections that would normally escape her.

  'So, you're my domestic helpers, I assume?' she asked.

  The largest of the three glanced at his companions before responding. 'Errr, yes, Miss,' he muttered.

  'What are you? And what are you doing in my home?'

  The creature coughed and ducked its head. 'Kobolds, Miss. We're called kobolds. And you see, Miss, us kobolds, we attach ourselves to households. Like to keep useful, see?'

  'That's nice dear, but it doesn't actually answer my question. Why me?'

  'Ummm, the head of the household has to be worthy, Miss. And one of the ways we work out who's worthy is to see how they treat stray animals.'

  The kobold paused and for the first time looked at Jennifer directly. 'No matter how many animals we left out for you, you kept taking them in and giving them shelter,' he said in a softer voice.

  The other two kobolds muttered their agreement, seemingly happy to let their friend do all the talking.