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Unburied Treasures: an illustrated anthology
Unburied Treasures: an illustrated anthology
Unburied Treasures: an illustrated anthology
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Unburied Treasures: an illustrated anthology

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What do you think of when you hear the word ‘treasure’? Do you picture gold and jewels spilling out of an iron-bound chest? See a glimpse of rare antiques hidden away in an attic? Or is it something more personal? Are there precious mementoes and gifts that are important to you? Pictures and talismans which never fail to kindle intense thoughts and feelings within you?

Treasures can be heroically gained or tragically lost - and be held all the more dear for it. Treasure can mean both the warm golden glow of memory, and the sharp-edged sparkle of adventure. Discovered treasure may promise a future of ease and delight, or be a reminder of war and chaos. There is treasure of the mind and treasure of the heart. Ideas, dreams, and intimate connections are all to be treasured.

So what treasures do you seek? Venture into the anthology. There are riches of every kind collected here.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherLydia Kurnia
Release dateJun 1, 2014
ISBN9781311165091
Unburied Treasures: an illustrated anthology
Author

Lydia Kurnia

Lydia Kurnia is a typical artist suffering from obsessive compulsive imagination. On bad days, she wastes time daydreaming. On good days, she tries to be productive by transposing that to writing, music, videos, and digital painting. Lydia also does book illustrations and speculative fiction art. She has an art website which she shares with her partner in crime Isaia. Please check it out when you have the time at http://www.worldsbeyondart.com or like their our Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/worldsbeyondart

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    Book preview

    Unburied Treasures - Lydia Kurnia

    Unburied Treasures

    Published by Lydia Kurnia at Smashwords

    Edited by Erika Wilson

    Illustrated by Isaia and Lydia Kurnia

    Copyright 2014 Lydia Kurnia

    Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Table of Contents

    Foreword

    Stone Unturned

    A Young, Green World

    7:74 pm

    Secrets

    The Great Wheel

    A Map is not The World

    Finder’s Fee

    The Lightning Bears

    The Heroes of Bailey’s Wood

    Afterword

    Foreword

    by Erika Wilson and Lydia Kurnia

    Some years ago, a group of writers met in an online writing forum and, while reading and critiquing each other’s stories, became friends. The exchange of ideas and collaborations bore fruit; many went on to publish and some expanded their artistic output into visual and acoustic media. One day, one of them thought it would be cool to create an anthology together. So they pooled their talents and published their very first anthology: Trespass.

    Two years later, they decided to regroup for a second anthology. This time with illustrations to enrich your reading experience and share some insight into the minds behind this project.

    Unburied Treasures offers a rich trove stories exploring the allure of treasure in various forms. What do you think of when you hear the word ‘treasure’? Do you picture gold and jewels spilling out of an iron-bound chest? See a glimpse of rare antiques hidden away in an attic? Or is it something more personal? Are there precious mementoes and gifts that are important to you? Pictures and talismans which never fail to kindle intense thoughts and feelings within you?

    Treasures can be heroically gained or tragically lost - and be held all the more dear for it. Treasure can mean both the warm golden glow of memory, and the sharp-edged sparkle of adventure. Discovered treasure may promise a future of ease and delight, or be a reminder of war and chaos. There is treasure of the mind and treasure of the heart. Ideas, dreams, and intimate connections are all to be treasured.

    Some of the stories, like Finder’s Fee, A Young Green World, and The Heroes of Bailey’s Wood, speak of finding lost treasure, with all the wonder and risk such discoveries entail. With Secrets, 7:74 p.m., and A Map Is Not The World, a convoluted trail must be followed in a quest for answers. But the unearthing of such deeply hidden truths often comes at great cost. In The Lightning Bears, The Great Wheel, and Stone Unturned, myths exhumed from the long-buried past result in stunning revelations with unimaginable consequences.

    So what treasures do you seek? Turn over the page. There are riches of every kind collected here.

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    Stone Unturned

    by Lindsey Duncan

    I have no lullabies for you, my child, for the song has left me. As yet unborn, you are too young to understand the words that would tell you how we came here. Yet it is a tale that begs for voice, and maybe some faint infant wisdom will feel the truth of what needs to be done.

    I wish I could tell you about your father, but it was no romantic epic, just a brief interlude between my Soundings after I had reported the history of an ancient castle to its new-minted noble keepers. He was a tradesman from across the seas; I felt other women when I touched him, but I needed to leave the past aside for a night.

    I worked other Soundings before I was pregnant enough for travel to be uncomfortable. If my new patron had not been Crown Prince Idrin himself, I would have declined.

    It was a secretive mission. We left under cover of darkness, with what the prince deemed a skeleton crew – which still included guards, servants, and a cook. By the time we reached the foot of the mountain, the ache poured through my veins. I staved it off by singing prayers in my thoughts.

    He reined his horse by the wagon. You and I ride the rest of the way. Alone.

    I peered at the sturdy pony intended as my mount, but did not voice my doubts. The ascent jarred the sense out of my head; I had only a dim sense of bone-white rock clawing for the sky and the tow-headed royal buzzing with impatience. He seemed to be all around me.

    The climb turned steep. I clung to the pony, leaning forward against her neck and unable to remember why I had agreed to come. The ground flattened out in an immense plateau. The fortress flowed out as if part of the mountain before it became a human construction of stone upon stone.

    Now, finally, Idrin paused. Are you well?

    His concern was for the Sounding, not my health; I could see it on his face. I’ll manage.

    He nodded and swung from his horse, tethering it. I struggled down from the pony’s back. We entered the fortress by a blackened apperture that must have once held gates. Fissures in the ceiling and walls let in spiderwebs of light, enough to see by.

    But I didn’t need to see, for I could feel the song in the stone under me. There was power here, a symphony of historic events so strong a single footstep brought echoes.

    What now? Idrin’s voice felt thin and unreal.

    I’ll attune to the stones, your highness, I said, and listen to their vibrations.

    I knelt on the dividing line between cracked, mossy tiles. Givesan, Hawk of the Heavens, Father of Humanity, open my ears … open my heart. I sang the prayer, letting the melody shape itself. It was new with each Sounding. Carry me under your wings as you carried our mother, through islands and nations of time.

    The ruined hall began to shrink, transcended by music that was more than sound. I continued my prayer.

    Tilasta, Wolf of the Deeps, Mother of Monsters, be merciful. Leash your fury. Grant me passage through the unknown. Keep close to your breast the evils you bore, more potent than those of humankind …

    Harmony and light. My senses filled with memories of a blazing hearth and a thousand candles, fur rugs sprawling across the polished white stone to trap the heat … the press of hundreds of ghostly bodies, most of them elegant and erudite, but also the scampering of servants whose lives history would never remember.

    The theme of the strongest memory carried above the bustle. I focused on it.

    * * *

    How could you do this to me? he demanded.

    She stood by the bedchamber window, fingers pressed to her still-flat stomach. She was a pretty but unexceptional woman with coppery hair and thick hands. Hazel eyes scanned the view, but fog obscured anything beyond the mountains.

    I can go into seclusion, she said quietly. Have the child. Place it with a servant family. No one will ever need to know.

    He snorted. I’ll know. Do our vows mean nothing? He vibrated with fury, each question – and her gentle response – increasing the tempo. He was tall, lean as a tendril of smoke, dark of face and hair, with a presence that made an intimidating figure even when calm.

    I still love you. I’m sorry I hurt you. She closed her eyes. There are not words enough.

    But not sorry for welcoming him.

    She said nothing, lips pressed until they turned white.

    The fire snapped, as if trying to break the tension. You humiliated me, he continued.

    Her chin came up, her eyes wild. I humiliated you? You, who clasped a foreign wanderer to your breast, then flaunted your daughter at court? Can you even compare?

    And that gives you the right? he snapped.

    No, she said, but it means you have none. For two years, I’ve had to live with the daily reminder and the sideways looks, the whispers and the smiles. The memory of an empty bed and the question of your heart. We are still childless. I ask myself if the world will ever have a fragment of us both.

    The fury in his face drained away. He gusted a sigh, resting unsteadily on the arm of a whitewood chair. How did we come to this?

    Sometimes, I feel as if it were forces higher than ourselves. She clutched the window, as if she could escape through it.

    He nodded and let the silence grow. The tension had faded, but there was a sense of decision.

    I could agree to your plan, he said slowly, but this place is too small for secrets, as you well know. He glanced away. My reputation is the only thing that keeps me secure as king. Jeopardize that, and we could fall to battling among ourselves.

    I know.

    The whisper drew his gaze. I don’t have a choice, he said, gentle now. I have to banish you.

    She inhaled sharply. We don’t know what’s beyond the mists. Must it be so drastic?

    It must. He reached, took her hands for what might be the last time. If I keep you here, I will forever be tempted to forgive you.

    * * *

    I came out of the discordant notes of the argument cold and shaking. I slid to my palms, wondering at these people, their loves, their betrayals … and their isolation. This fortress had once been a world to itself, and to leave it was to vanish into oblivion.

    Hands on my shoulders steadied me. Are you all right?

    I blinked up at Idrin. The present felt hazy and wrong. Yes, your highness. Soundings can be intense.

    He offered me a flask. I opened it, smelled wine, and handed it back without comment.

    Give me a little to catch my breath, I said, and I will continue.

    I closed my eyes, considering the sense of great age that had come with the Sounding. Just how old was this place? I could not see the furniture or garments clearly enough to pinpoint an era: physical objects did not leave lasting impressions, except in very rare cases.

    If I had known what I was getting into,

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