Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXVI
Marion Zimmer Bradley's
Sword & Sorceress 26
edited by
Elisabeth Waters
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Introduction
by Elisabeth Waters
A Legal Affair
by Kat Otis
The Seal Hunt
by Deborah J. Ross
The Girl Who Folded Dragons
by Jean Tatro
Hedgewitch
by Jonathan Shipley
Banjooli
by Melissa Mead
Truth in the Inward Parts
by Michael Spence and Elisabeth Waters
Mad Magic
by Margaret L. Carter
The Page Turner
by Dave Smeds
The Cave of Almerzan
by Patricia Duffy Novak
The Raw and the Cooked
by Michael H. Payne
Wisdom of Winds
by Pauline J. Alama
Nemesis
by Steve Chapman
The Hungry Ghost
by J.C. Hsyu
Ghost Dance
by Jonathan Moeller
Hallah Iron-Thighs and the Dancing Djinn
by K.D. Wentworth
Time for Tears
by David L. Burkhead
Not the Best Neighbors
by Julia H. West
The Hate-Filled Gnome
by Joette M. Rozanski
Summer Flu
by Katharina Schuschke
Copyright
Kindle books in the Sword & Sorceress series
Introduction
by Elisabeth Waters
This past year has been tough on many of us, especially from an economic standpoint. All one has to do is pick up one of the newspapers titled something like 'Careers and Jobs'—the notices are for schools that claim to train students for in-demand jobs, but there are no listings for jobs. I suspect that for many people it has been emotionally taxing as well. But as I read through this year's submissions I realized that I have been blessed with some of the most emotionally resilient writers around. Most years I'm lucky to get one short and funny story for the end of the anthology; this year I got two, so I put one at the beginning as well.
In spite of a current fictional landscape of dystopian futures, of vampires, demons, and fallen angels (and those are the heroes!), I got a lot of stories that were light-hearted and hopeful, where most of the protagonists were still alive and human at the end—those who were human to begin with, that is. We still have a protagonist who is a squirrel. We have sorceresses and swordswomen, dragons, princesses, ghosts (both dead and alive), djinn, and, of course, a magical cat.
I don't say that I'd want to live permanently in the magical worlds portrayed in this volume, but they're nice places to visit and a refreshing change from current events. I hope that you enjoy these stories as much as I do.
—Elisabeth Waters
A Legal Affair
by Kat Otis
Telling a story by means of letters is an old tradition in fiction, from Samuel Richardson's Pamela, published in 1740, to two of my favorite childhood books: Jean Webster's Daddy Long-Legs, 1912; and Dear Enemy, 1915 (all now available at Gutenberg.org). In this story we have a classic theme—a princess being held captive by a dragon—dealt with in a fashion that is both epistolary and unique.
Kat Otis was born with a surplus of creativity and quickly learned to cope by telling stories to anyone who would listen. When she's not writing, she's an historian, mathematician, singer, and photographer. She lives a peripatetic life with a pair of kittens who enjoy riding in the car as long as there's no country music involved. Her short fiction has previously appeared in Daily Science Fiction and Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, and she is thrilled that her lucky third sale was to Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword & Sorceress.
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To all Kings, Princes, and Lords,
Whereas I have no children, save only one daughter, I find it expedient to lock said daughter in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. Whosoever rescues the princess shall marry her and become my heir.
King John VII of Phantacia
Witness, the Lords Challand, Darston, Keborough, Nimford and Vourmond of His Majesty's Privy Council, the first day of June
* * * *
To Sir Sedgway, Lord Chief Justice of Phantacia,
I pray you enquire into the cause of my imprisonment, if it be legal or no.
Your devoted servant,
Princess Melissande
* * * *
To my most dear and loving daughter,
Nice try, poppet, but the cause of your imprisonment is my special commandment, which you know full well as you were at the Privy Council session in question. Workmen are still repairing the damage you wrought when you were dragged out of the chamber, kicking and screaming.
Your affectionate father,
King John VII
* * * *
To Flameheart, Gaolloress of His Majesty's Tower in Bartwick,
We command you to have Her Highness, the Princess Melissande, together with the cause of her detention, at our High Court of Justice immediately, there to receive whatever our court should order concerning her. This in no wise omit, upon your peril.
By order of Sir Samuel Sedgway, Lord Chief Justice of Phantacia, the fourth day of June
* * * *
To Sir Sedgway, Lord Chief Justice of Phantacia,
I regret to inform you of the demise of your clerk. My gaolloress ate both him and the writ of habeas corpus which I assume he was delivering.
Your devoted servant,
Princess Melissande
* * * *
M, you can't possibly be serious? S
* * * *
S, I'm afraid so. I believe the dragon mistook him for a prince. Perhaps next time you could send a less dashing clerk? An escort of knights wouldn't go amiss, either. Say, at least two dozen? M
* * * *
Most dear daughter,
Cease this nonsense, immediately.
Your affectionate father,
King John VII
* * * *
Honored father,
All I did was enquire into the cause of my imprisonment. Anything that occurred afterwards was the responsibility of your appointed servant, my gaolloress. It sorrows me that you find her to be incompetent but what, pray tell, do you expect me to do about it?
Your obedient daughter,
Melissande
* * * *
To Flameheart, Gaolloress of His Majesty's Tower in Bartwick,
We find you to be in contempt of our High Court of Justice by your actions towards our clerk on the fifth day of June. You are hereby fined one month's wages – to wit, four nubile maidens.
By order of Sir Samuel Sedgway, Lord Chief Justice of Phantacia, the eighth day of June
* * * *
S, didn't you receive my last letter? What were you thinking? The dragon made short work of the five knights you sent. M
* * * *
Your Highness,
I regret to inform you that the High Court of Justice has recessed for the foreseeable future, due to the unfortunate demise of the Lords Challand, Darston, Keborough, Nimford and Vourmond. The Privy Council will also be in abeyance until such time as His Majesty sees fit to appoint new advisors.
Your truly loving and faithful servant,
Sir Samuel Sedgway
P.S.: Oh, you of little faith.
* * * *
Honored father,
Allow me to convey my deepest sympathies for the loss of yo
ur dearest and most loyal advisors, who were always so willing to support you in any and every matter of state. Shall I accompany you to their funerals?
Your ever dutiful daughter to command,
Melissande
* * * *
Daughter,
Not on your life.
Your affectionate father,
King John VII
* * * *
To the Right Honorable Richard, Earl of Bartwick,
Whereas Flameheart, heretofore Gaolloress of His Majesty's Tower in Bartwick, has repeatedly shown contempt towards His Majesty's High Court of Justice, said dragon has forfeited her entire salary. If it please your Lordship, arrange for all the nubile maidens to be returned to their families.
Your real friend,
Sir Samuel Sedgway
* * * *
S, the dragon has starting laying waste to the countryside around the Tower. I know the law works on its own schedule, but is there any way to hurry things up? M
* * * *
To His Majesty, King John VII,
Flameheart, former Gaolloress of Your Majesty's Tower in Bartwick, has conducted a series of vicious attacks upon my lands. I request aid and assistance in dealing with this menace.
Your loyal subject until death,
Richard, Earl of Bartwick
* * * *
Lord Richard,
While I am not unmindful of the damage that the dragon must be wreaking upon your lands, I judge this to be well within your capacity to handle. Be of good faith—someone will kill her soon.
Your loving liege,
King John VII
* * * *
S, where are you? What's going on out there? M
* * * *
M, stay calm. I think I have everything under control. S
* * * *
S, You think!!! M
* * * *
To Sir Sedgway, Lord Chief Justice of Phantacia,
I pray you enquire into my rights in the face of His Majesty's refusal to honor his feudal oaths.
Your slightly singed friend,
Richard, Earl of Bartwick
* * * *
To the Right Honorable Richard, Earl of Bartwick,
The proper legal recourse is diffidatio. Pray, may I be of further assistance to you?
Your servant in all things,
Sir Samuel Sedgway
* * * *
To all Kings, Princes, and Lords,
Whereas I did formerly send notice of the need for an heir, said need has been fulfilled.
King John VII of Phantacia
Witness, the Right Honorable Richard, Earl of Bartwick, and Sir Samuel Sedgway, Lord Chief Justice of Phantacia, the twentieth day of June
* * * *
Dearest Father,
It grieves us terribly that you were absent from our wedding. We pray that you have fine weather on the Isle of Samein and that you are made comfortable there. May we also remind you to warn all your would-be visitors that our Lord Admiral, Flameheart, has been granted the right to devour any and all persons violating our sovereign waters.
Your affectionate and obliged children,
King Samuel I and Queen Melissande II of Phantacia
The Seal Hunt
by Deborah J. Ross
Here is a story for anyone who ever thought that being a bridesmaid was burdensome. Tabitha's brother is getting married, and she is pulled away from her beloved academic research to go on a seal hunt with his future wife. If only the seals were the worst of her problems...
Deborah wrote and illustrated her first book when she was in 4th grade and hasn't stopped since, despite obtaining academic degrees in biology and psychology. In between bringing up two children, earning a black belt in kung fu san soo, living in France, studying Hebrew and yoga, and moving from Los Angeles to a redwood forest, she has published seven novels (five of them Darkover® novels under the auspices of the Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust) and somewhere around fifty short stories. She has also edited three anthologies and is a member of Book View Café, an online writer's collective. Two of her stories ("Mother Africa" and "The Price of Silence") have earned Honorable Mention in The Year's Best SF.
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Bees hummed in the sweet pea blossoms, their legs coated with pollen, when one of the younger students brought Tabitha a message that the Dean wished to see her. Through her protective gauze veil, Tabitha observed the student's posture, the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Is she fearful of the bees or distraught by the message she carries? Tabitha disliked leaving the experiment, but the bees would continue to pollinate the different colors of flowers whether she were there to record them or not. She tucked her notebook and pencil into one of the pockets in her apron and turned her back on the garden. When she removed her hat and veil, a couple of bees still clung to the gauze. The student drew back as if she'd been stung.
Ah, it was the bees then.
Tabitha had never understood why people were frightened of beneficial insects that were innocuous unless provoked and easily managed with the proper precautions. Gently she brushed the bees from the gauze. "You see, they are not so fierce."
"Our little sisters," the student murmured.
Tabitha did not dignify the comment with a response. Was there no end to romantic nonsense? In this frame of mind, she passed between the choir and the alchemical laboratories, slowing at the door of the library before plunging into the shadowed interior of the tower that housed not only classrooms but administrative offices.
She seated herself in the accustomed chair, inhaled the familiar smells of paper and ink, leather book bindings and glue, and waited for the old woman on the other side of the desk to speak.
"Senior Fellow Tabitha, this arrived for you."
Tabitha examined the letter. The wax seal bore the imprint of her father's crest. Frowning, she met the Dean's gaze.
"It might be best to read it here, in seclusion." The Dean shifted her weight as if to rise, her age-stiffened joints popping.
"Please stay," Tabitha said. "Your absence has no power to alter the contents."
The wax seal broke easily at Tabitha's touch. The paper crackled as she unfolded it. The letter itself contained nothing to distress anyone. Indeed, most would consider it a reason for rejoicing. Her father, the Duke, had entered into negotiations to betroth her only brother, Reynoso, to Pazyrykian of the Ice Witches. Tabitha was sensible of the generosity implied in writing to her, for her family had been unabashedly relieved when she had entered the College of Natural Philosophy. She herself had informed them at an early age that any attempt to enslave her to a husband would be met with drastic means. She had had in mind a rain of alchemical dragon-fire, which she now knew to be mythical, but her father had taken the point. Reynoso was no such rebel.
Tabitha related the news. The Dean listened with the attention she usually reserved for academic matters and said, "This is an advantageous match, is it not?"
"Yes, yes it is." The Dejhen Empire had been expanding westward, annexing by conquest. Not even the Dejhen would risk outright conflict with the Ice Witches.
Father must be elated...and anxious for the finalization of the marriage contract.
Tabitha returned to the letter. "My presence is required...as the sister of the groom...to accompany him on a Rite of Prowess. It's a seal hunt." That explained why she and not one of her three younger sisters had been chosen. Their mother would undoubtedly see such an adventure as deleterious to their marriage prospects.
The Dean's disapproval showed in the slight pursing of her lips.
No, Tabitha realized. Not disapproval. Fear...fear that I will not be allowed to return. How little the outside world understood her family, and how little her family understood her.
She affected an expression of exasperation. "My studies of the visual functions of honeybees according to their preference for blossom color must continue without interruption, or I will have to sta
rt all over again next spring. Flavonia is most familiar with my system of notation and the least likely to indulge her ambition by inventing her own." In this way, she acknowledged her loyalty to the College, and she was rewarded by a lessening in the tension on the Dean's face.
What a simple thing is communication, she reflected, and then looked down at the letter in her hands.
* * * *
Returning home was like putting on a mask and gloves. Tabitha felt as if she couldn't see properly or breathe freely. The very air seemed dense and recalcitrant, not the pellucid mixture of gases that bathed her senses while in College. Everyone from her father on down talked too much and too fast and never said what they meant, so that half her mind was always grappling with inconsistencies and logical impossibilities.
The Duke welcomed his august guests, including representatives of the Ice Witches and the Dejhen Emperor. At the banquet afterward, Tabitha sat at her father's great table, pushing her highly spiced and therefore unappetizing dinner around her plate. She nodded absently when asked a question and indulged herself in her favorite childhood pastime—speculating on the histories and temperaments of the people in the room. Her sisters looked very much as she remembered them, every hair lacquered into place, every ribbon and buckle at precisely the fashionable angle.
Reynoso had always been Tabitha's favorite sibling, but he was clearly not at his best tonight. In one ear, he wore the large pink-tinted pearl earring that had been their grandfather’s most cherished ornament, but he had not secured the clasp to the back of the wire. He was drinking too much, but perhaps that was to be expected.
Tabitha had been seated beside her mother, too far from the Ice Witch for easy conversation. That was too bad, since the Ice Witch looked intriguing. She was short and rotund, dressed in fur-trimmed leather, her face pale ivory against the oiled obsidian of her hair. She answered every comment with grave courtesy, although in a voice so low that Tabitha could not make out the words. Tabitha considered and discarded the idea of requesting to exchange places with the Ice Witch's other neighbor, as was the custom in College when one wished especially to converse with another, but such a breach of etiquette was unthinkable. Yet here was the Dejhen ambassador at the next place down the table. Tabitha observed him as closely as she could without staring. He appeared to be elderly, his skin deeply weathered, but his posture was in no way decrepit. The hair that swept back from a widow's peak showed no trace of gray at his temples. The skin on his hands was smooth, his palms uncalloused, and his knuckles of normal configuration, not enlarged with joint-ill. A smell like musty leather clung to him. When he lifted his fork to his mouth, his sleeve fell back, revealing a tracery of charcoal-dark whorls.