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    Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet
    Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet
    Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet

    By Mary E. Lowd

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    About this ebook

    A collection of the five short stories by Mary E. Lowd nominated for the 2012 Ursa Major Award for Best Short Fiction. Where else can you read about a mad mouse scientist, a man cursed by the Faerie queen, a cantankerous cat, and a woman who drinks tea with a dragon and a unicorn all in the same book?

    Includes "St. Kalwain and the Lady Uta," "One Night in Nocturnia," "Magtwilla and the Mouse," "Shreddy and the Christmas Ghost," and "Hot Chocolate for the Unicorn."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMary E. Lowd
    Release dateMar 17, 2013
    ISBN9781301055913
    Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet
    Author

    Mary E. Lowd

    Mary E. Lowd is a prolific science-fiction and furry writer in Oregon. She's had more than 200 short stories and a dozen novels published, always with more on the way. Her work has won three Ursa Major Awards, ten Leo Literary Awards, and four Cóyotl Awards. She is also the founder and editor of Zooscape. She lives in a crashed spaceship, disguised as a house and hidden behind a rose garden, with a large collection of animals, both real and imaginary, who collectively serve as her muse.

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      Book preview

      Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet - Mary E. Lowd

      Ursa Major 2012 Short Fiction Reading Packet

      by

      Mary E. Lowd

      * * *

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2013 by Mary E. Lowd

      www.marylowd.com

      * * *

      This is a collection of the five short stories by Mary E. Lowd that were nominated for the 2012 Ursa Major Award for Best Short Fiction. Learn more about the Ursa Major Awards at www.ursamajorawards.org.

      Table of Contents

      St. Kalwain and the Lady Uta

      One Night in Nocturnia

      Magtwilla and the Mouse

      Shreddy and the Christmas Ghost

      Hot Chocolate for the Unicorn

      About the Author

      * * *

      St. Kalwain and the Lady Uta

      Originally published in ROAR 4

      Snow bent the boughs of the karillow trees, and ice silvered the soft buds at their tips. Spring had come too early this year, and all the eager young plants would pay a price for their enthusiasm. Flowers killed by frost.

      St. Kalwain didn't mind the snow. His black fur was thick and warm. He found it insufferably so whenever he kept the company of humans. Their houses were always warmed by raging hearth fires. Their walls held in the heat. And they insulated themselves with layers of cloaks and clothes. They expected him to layer himself with clothes too. He remembered a time when he chose to wear clothes out of modesty. Now, he preferred to sleep in the wild. In the snow. Alone and far from humans.

      Deep in the forest, St. Kalwain didn't hear hoof beats often. When he did, they were far off and the sound began to recede long before the smell of the steed reached his nose. There were no roads near his dell, so there was no reason for travelers to come by. Unless they were lost. Or looking for him. The only paths were those made by his own misshapen feet, too like a wolf's to comfortably wear shoes. Yet, the skin of his footpads was still too human and too tender to entirely go without. St. Kalwain made do with scraps of cloth, tied tight around the bare-skinned parts of his otherwise furry feet.

      Today, though, the sound of the hoof beats kept growing closer, and St. Kalwain scented oats, mint, and the salt of sweat in the air. He perked his ears to listen closely for any more telling sounds, but he was not in the mood to help lost travelers today. He'd done enough good deeds to last a lifetime. He stretched and yawned, then settled back even more comfortably in his hollowed out dent at the base of a tree.

      The hoof beats grew closer for a while, then slowed and meandered aimlessly through the woods. Kalwain? a sweet voice sang. Saint Kalwain? It was the voice of a young woman, and the sound made St. Kalwain flatten his ears and draw back his lips in a snarl that he knew from memory was more wolf than man. The accursed mirror that could show him his snarl hung in a locket about his neck. It was only the size of a farthing, but he dreaded the sight of himself in it. Nonetheless, if a sweet-voiced young woman had come to call on him in his reclusion, it could only mean one thing. And he would not give up his retirement easily.

      St. Kalwain opened the locket and steeled himself against the glaring reflection of his hideously yellow eyes. He stared himself down and whispered the couplet that would summon the faerie queen's attention. The words felt like a collar around his neck, but within seconds his hateful reflection frosted over. The image of his captor queen appeared in its place: alabaster skin, raven hair, sharply arched eyebrows, and eyes that sparkled like the edge of a knife. She was beauty. She was death. She was the hand at the end of the chain that held him here in the wilderness away from the life he'd once lived.

      My queen, he said to the image in the glass. There is a woman seeking me in my forest. Did you send her?

      The faerie queen frowned, an expression as frightening as ice cracking beneath your feet yet as delicate as a single petal floating on the wind. Of course I sent her, the faerie queen said. You are my champion, and she needs a champion.

      I have done good deeds in the name of Faerie for half my life, St. Kalwain said, bitterly. I am known in every village across this land. My own people have made me a saint -- in spite of your curse. Yet, never are my deeds enough for you. You will not release me from my curse. So, I will champion for you no more.

      The faerie queen laughed, and icicles broke, shattering on the trees all around. You think I can't make you? she said. I can bring you back to Faerie. If you won't work off your curse.

      St. Kalwain didn't flinch. He'd been to Faerie, and he'd rather die than live in that terrifying land again. But he knew where he stood. You can bring me back to Faerie anyway, he said. I won't dance for you anymore.

      There was laughter in the faerie queen's eyes, but it died away as St. Kalwain looked at her. Very well, she said. This will be your last service to me. Assist the lady who seeks you in your forest now, and afterward I will set you free.

      St. Kalwain's heart leapt at the sound of those words, but they were hard to believe.

      I warn you, though, the faerie queen added as her image began to fade in the locket, Fail me here, and you will sit by my side, a royal hunting hound in the land of Faerie forever.

      St. Kalwain remembered the faerie queen's throne room. It was lit with a sickly green glow, and sounds echoed like water droplets in a musty cellar. The walls were living flesh, embedded with chattering teeth and watchful eyes. Dried bracken and branches of thorns were set in vases as if they were exquisite flowers. At the center of the room, raised on a dais, was the faerie queen's throne, built from human bones. St. Kalwain shuddered, picturing himself forced to curl at the foot of that throne like a loyal dog.

      And, so, he said to the emptied mirror as he closed it back in the locket, I will dance for you again. As always. He sighed, a long drawn-out breath between his muzzle's sharp teeth.

      The sweet-voiced maiden continued to

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