Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity

Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity

Edited by Phil Giunta

Cover & Interior Art by Michael Riehl

Cover Design by Chris Winner

Published by:

Firebringer Press

6101 Hunt Club Road

Elkridge, MD 21075

Smashwords Edition

Collection Copyright © 2014 by Firebringer Press

Copyright of each work belongs to the respective author or artist.

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.

August, 2014

INTRODUCTION

There is so much to be said for science fiction fandom, more so than can be expounded upon in a brief introduction. One thing is certain, its cup runneth over with talent. Nearly all of the stories and art in this book came together as a result of my nearly quarter-century involvement in SF fandom and conventions.

In the mid-90s, I met Stuart Roth and Susanna Reilly as fellow members of a Philadelphia-based chapter of STARFLEET, the international Star Trek fan club. We wrote fan fiction for the chapter’s ‘zine (that’s short for fanzine, folks). Since then, Stuart and Susanna have gone on to write some of the most imaginative original fiction I’ve ever read.

At about that same time, I began attending Farpoint and Shore Leave, two long-running SF conventions in Maryland. It was at one of the first Farpoint cons where I met Steven H. Wilson. Steve is the co-founder of Farpoint and by that time, had already written for DC Comics. He’s also won both the Mark Time and Parsec awards for his podcast audio drama series, The Arbiter Chronicles. Steve had started in fan fiction, so we shared common ground. As soon as I met him, I knew I wanted to be that guy! Who would have thought that 15 years later, that guy would become my publisher, my mentor, my brother?

It was through Steve and the Maryland convention scene that I was later introduced to three more tremendously talented chaps—Lance Woods, Daniel Patrick Corcoran, and Michael Critzer, further expanding my fandom family (go ahead, smush those two words together. Let me know what you come up with).

In recent years, Amanda Headlee and I met as co-workers. After learning that I was about to publish my first paranormal mystery novel, she let me read her first short story in the same genre. I loved it! Over time, Amanda developed it further, and I am proud to include it in this collection.

This book is not only a culmination of my decades-long friendships with fantastic writers, it also exemplifies the sheer joy of collaboration with a group of wordslingers I deeply admire.

When I proposed this project to Steve, I knew I wanted to include Mike Riehl as our cover artist and illustrator. My close friendship with Mike goes back over 15 years. From the eye-popping cover to the interior illustrations, Mike’s mastery of the canvas, as well as the sketchpad, is undeniable.

For some of the aforementioned writers, this anthology is their first professional publication. It is for them—and through them—that I found myself perpetually inspired and excited during the two years it took to bring this dream to fruition, to put this book in front of your eyes…and to invite you to join us Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity.

Phil Giunta

April 2014

Table of Contents

The Obligation of Kitsune by Stuart S. Roth

Don’t Go In the Barn, Johnny! by Steven H. Wilson

Evelyn by Michael Critzer

Form & Substance by Susanna Reilly

Apartment Hunting by Daniel Patrick Corcoran

Photos from the Attic by Phil Giunta

Parallax by Amanda Headlee

Dead Air by Lance Woods

Thorn by Michael Critzer

Water to Share by Phil Giunta

Deluge by Stuart S. Roth

Perchance to Dream by Susanna Reilly

Don’t Go Fussin’ Over Me by Phil Giunta

The Obligation of Kitsune

by Stuart S. Roth

The hills surrounding Kyodo were lined with bamboo forests in the lower reaches, and oaks and other good woods further up. The city resided in the central Japanese island of Honshu and was one of the country’s most ancient places. It was dotted with Buddhist monasteries and Shinto shrines that provided a framework for its row upon row of worker housing, with their tiny chimneys and charcoal cookeries. Very rarely was it cursed with snow, but in the year that the War in China became the Pacific War with the United States, a white blanket covered the ground.

This is when the young people of the town left school early to go as a group into the high hills to gather firewood. Boys and girls alike participated; most of the men were off in the service of the Emperor.

The war had forced everything to change. Heating oil was scarce, so wood was needed, but as the season went on they had to travel farther and farther to gather it, and they were but one ward of five in Kyodo. There was always a flutter of bravado and chatter from the two groups when they first met up. They sang patriotic songs and the boys would sword fight with sticks as they slogged on to the good wood. Daily radio broadcasts told tales of the victorious Imperial Army and Navy. Every boy wanted to go and fight, and every girl wanted to hear their stories of bravery–all, except for Daisoku and Mari.

He was fifteen and she was fourteen. Each afternoon they would meet in the cobbled street that led up to the Kiyomizu-dera Shrine, near where the incense sellers and produce merchants set up shop. He would arrive with the boys from the primary school dressed in their navy style uniforms under black wool jackets. She would be waiting with her friends from the formal school, already having changed into baggy work trousers and overcoats.

For five days in a row they all walked up the same steep trail to the same richly wooded place. Despite the rigors, it was the easiest of the paths. Yet with each trip they had to stay out longer and longer.

One day, Mari finally spoke up about an idea that had been in her head for the past couple of days. Just beyond the tall stilt supports that held Kiyomizu-dera above its precipitous gorge was a ten-foot rock ledge that led up to a steeply sloping hillside. She stopped to contemplate the icy wall, reaching out with her mitten-covered hands to see what kind of hold she could gain.

What if we were to try up there? she asked.

One of the boys, Shimanazu, their leader–for boys always had a leader–studied it with more attention than his intellect really allowed. Then he looked at the girl as though she was stupid. No. There’s no good way. He trudged on and the others followed.

Wait. Mari startled herself with her own voice. I… I think we can climb it.

A hush fell over the boys–some were eager to try–but Shimanazu glared them down, for he wasn’t so sure about climbing up there. He also didn’t like being countermanded when it was cold and going to be dark soon. He pounded the rock. Ice, nothing but ice.

See, here, like this. She reached over her head and scraped the rock with a stick until her fingers could grip it.

Don’t be an idiot, he said, as she lost her grip and tumbled backward into the snow. Everyone laughed, except for Daisoku, who hung near the back of the group. He felt sorry for the girl, but wasn’t bold enough to step forward. There was little to understand about Shimanazu’s bullying. He was from a prestigious family. Something had to be said for one’s place in life. The angry-faced girl looking back at him should have known that.

He turned and pulled the closest boy along with him. Leave her.

"Wakarimasuka? she yelled. I don’t understand." She got up to confront him.

Shimanazu didn’t have to explain. He shoved her backward and she landed hard onto the path. This time Daisoku stepped forward, but held his tongue.

Mari stood up again, but could not face the bully. Her face was red with the heart’s glow and she felt ashamed. She returned to the rock wall, found her handhold again and pulled herself up. Her shoes were old worn out things, wrapped in cloth to help keep her warm. This made it difficult to find a foothold. She slipped and fell. Her face grew redder as her tears welled up and her breath came out in short, cloudy puffs in the cold air.

Daisoku stood awkwardly between her and Shimanazu.

The girl refused to give up. Her next ascent drew the others to cluster around. She not only maintained her foothold, but she pulled herself up to the point where her right hand could feel the upper edge of the wall. In what Daisoku considered an act of pure malice, Shimanazu reached out, seized her leg and yanked her down.

Daisoku jumped forward, half-catching her and breaking her fall, but landing them both in the snow.

There is nothing up there, the bully shouted down at them. Go on, be an idiot. You can go with her too, Dai. Shimanazu waved the others to follow him. No one else disobeyed. Even Daisoku got up and took a few hesitant steps up the trail. He looked back at the girl huddled in the snow.

Mari refused to look at him. She barely knew him and didn’t expect him to stay behind and consequently was not surprised to hear his footsteps receding up the trail.

All that was left for her now was the wall. She turned to it again. This time she was too angry and hurt to think straight. Her handholds slipped, she scraped her leg and gave in more and more to frustration.

By the time her hands grasped the top again only sheer blind rage drove her. As with life, that was no solid base with which to make progress. Exhausted and bruised, she felt her grip slipping, slipping, gone…

Suddenly, a pair of hands was there, holding her from falling. The boy who had caught her before was standing awkwardly below her, steadying her. Quickly, take hold.

Mari regained her place on the wall and took firm grip on a root at the top. The boy allowed her to use his shoulder to boost herself up. Finally, she was safely atop the challenging summit. She waited on all fours for her breath to return.

Here, take my hand, she called down. As he climbed up, their friendship was secured. They didn’t talk much. He was shy and she was told never to speak directly with a boy, which gave her a convenient excuse to hide her own shyness. Fortunately for them, the trip had been successful. The hill was lined with wood just waiting to be picked up. Soon their wire back-carriers were brimming with wood and they made the dangerous journey back down the wall and were on their way to town well ahead of the others.

They reached the pagoda where their paths parted. Daisoku spent most of the time looking at the ground as though the weight of his load was bowing his head. Well, I… I go this way.

Mari was truly arched over by the weight of her load but still managed an awkward bow. Thank you for your help.

He returned the bow. Tomorrow. That was all he could manage.

She nodded and backed toward the alley that would lead her home. My name is Suzuki Mariko.

He flashed a quick smile. Terachi Daisoku.

I’ll see you tomorrow then?

"Hai, tomorrow."

This was enough. Boy and girl each went their separate way, pleased by the encounter and eager for tomorrow.

Daisoku waited in the alley that he knew Mari would take to reach the point where the girls and boys met at the pagoda. As the gaggle of girls approached, he motioned for her to come over. His presence went unnoticed by the others, and Mari only had to slow her pace for them to go on out of earshot.

Mariko, he bowed nervously a couple of times. I, I think that maybe we could wait until the others are gone and try the wall again.

She nodded enthusiastically. They waited for Shimanazu to lead the others up the long, tired trail. Then they crept out of the alley and returned to the climbing spot.

Each day that winter he would help her up the slope and she would turn and offer her hand for him to follow. At first they concentrated on gathering their wood and returning home as early as possible. It was cold and there were other chores waiting to be done. But soon they became comfortable enough with their ritual that they began to linger and talk.

First it was simple gossip and daily news. She enjoyed origami; he liked to fly kites. This boy had done something or other at school, while some girl was a terrible nag and everyone hated her. They both agreed that the baker’s wife was mean and that Shimanazu’s father, the tax collector, was probably stealing from the till.

She would hide her face behind her hands when she laughed, while he had a boy’s boisterous laugh that he didn’t mind letting out.

They also took to noticing each other. She had long black hair and deep brown eyes. Daisoku had grayish eyes, that, she was embarrassed to say, made her blush when she thought of them.

They systematized their gathering process, collecting large piles beyond what they could carry that day in order for them to be ready to pick up the next day. This gave them more free time and their conversations began to happen freely. They didn’t need to talk about idle things or other people. They were growing to know each other.

Mari learned that the boy’s father was at some place called Kota Bharu. Dai was worried because they hadn’t heard from him in some time. I don’t even know where that place is. He’s in the army and sent me photographs from Singapore after they freed the city from the British.

Where’s that? Girls weren’t taught geography.

Daisoku shrugged again, not sure how to describe the place. Finally, he drew a map. We’re here, China is over here and way down below are the French and the British colonies. Singapore is down there.

My brother is dead, she blurted out. We don’t know where he was. His ship sank and… and I miss him.

He didn’t hesitate to reach out to her. He died in the service of the Emperor. Even if you have no ashes to remember him by, they keep a shrine in Tokyo for all the men who died in all the wars. The shrine is tended and venerated. He will be there. Maybe someday you can go and burn incense for him.

Mari nodded. Maybe, some day. If the war ever ends.

It will. We’re right and strong. We defeated the Russians at Tsushima. They were a modern Western power and we beat them.

I don’t care about that. I just want my brother back.

I know. I would give anything to hear about my father.

The winter went on this way. There were only a few times that they dwelled on the war. Each knew the other’s heart regarding that bigger thing. It was much better to talk about all sorts of other matters. That lightened the load of life, and they were still children after all. Life wasn’t that dark or gloomy, even in winter.

Spring was coming and they knew that their paths would soon separate for good. The boys and girls would no longer gather to collect wood. They would return to their separate lives.

The weather was warm on the day the boy turned sixteen. Only the tiniest patches of snow held up against the onslaught of rising temperatures.

Why didn’t you tell me it was going to be your birthday? Mari said. I could have brought you something special.

That’s why. Just didn’t want to have you go to any trouble. They sat side by side on a rock overlooking the valley.

Kiyomizu-dera was a complex of shrines built on raised platforms held above the valley floor by tall stilts. With its angular eaves, thick wood posts and dark brown and green colors, it blended in with its surroundings, yet held majestic vigil over the city below. They had grown up in its shadow and had attended ceremonies there. She had been dressed out in a fine kimono for girl’s day in that shrine. Despite its beauty, they had never really paid it much attention, until now.

There is a lover’s shrine there, Daisoku said boldly. She knew the story but let him tell it to her anyway. There is a stone on the ground in the courtyard up near the top. It is said that if you stand at the far end of the courtyard, face the rock, close your eyes and say a name out loud, you can find out if the gods approve. With your eyes closed, you must walk to the rock and place your hands on it. If you fall, or trip, or miss and go tumbling down the stairs or something, then you know it was not meant to be.

She looked into his face and saw wistfulness there. The sun glowed on his cheeks and sparkled in his eyes. He must have felt the weight of her gaze and did what most boys did when the moment was just right, he broke the spell. The keepers disapprove of such things of course. I imagine if they caught me or you stumbling across the courtyard with our eyes closed they would cane us good.

Their parents would tell them whom they would marry. That’s the way it had to be, and she decided that it was time to tell him firmly that they shouldn’t talk about such things. Before she could form the words, a terrible yelp came from the woods behind them.

They dropped their carriers of wood and ran back to see what was the matter. There, caught in a trap, was a brown fox. It squirmed and called out pitifully, for its back paw was caught in the nasty teeth of a steel trap.

Superstition and pity made the children hesitate. Legend held that a fox was clever and shrewd. It could bring great good or great misfortune. Tales to spook small children, but neither of them wanted to tempt fate.

The fox looked up at them with frightened, feral eyes before turning to gnaw at its leg. Back and forth its attention went, one second on the humans, the next on its trapped paw.

We have to help it, Mari said.

But how, he answered. Daisoku had enough experience with wild animals to know that the thing would bite them if they tried to get near it. What could they do for it even if they managed to free it? The paw was clearly broken. Go down and get one of the carriers, he said. She nodded and was just about to leave when she realized the wire carrier would do no good. Daisoku had hunted up a large rock.

No, you can’t.

Go, he ordered, but his voice lacked conviction and she returned to his side. The fox continued its struggle.

There has to be another way, Mari pleaded.

I don’t see what else we can do.

She had to agree. It tore at her heart to see the thing suffering. Wait. Unwrapping her headscarf, she draped it over the creature and then turned away. Daisoku lifted the rock. He thought it would be easier to bring it down on the struggling bolt of cloth, but it wasn’t.

Mari cringed when she heard the heavy thud of the rock. Is it…

I couldn’t do it, the boy said miserably. Sixteen and I can’t even put a wounded animal out of its misery.

Compassion is a good thing, she answered with a whisper. Mari learned more about the boy from this one gesture than from all of their conversations together. We’ll let it go; leave it up to the gods to decide.

Daisoku felt weak and useless, but agreed to throw his coat over the fox and hold it down while Mari pulled the steel trap open. To their great surprise, the creature leaped out of the coat as soon as its paw was liberated. All they saw was the flicking of its tail and a red-brown streak. It ran as if it hadn’t been injured. The children were left to gape after it.

A week had gone by since the day of the fox. This was their last day together. No more wood was needed. The other children no longer came up the trail. Neither of them needed heavy coats, and they could sit on the ledge of the wall and allow the sun to warm them. It was April, and the cherry blossoms were beginning to bud.

A flock of geese flew low over the Shinto shrine. Normally the birds would be honking and calling to each other as they returned to the north, but today they were silent except for the woosh, woosh, woosh of their wings as they flew almost at eye level across the valley.

The boy and girl held each other. Their perch over the trail leading into the woods was dangerous. Subconsciously, Daisoku guessed they wanted to be caught. It seemed better that they be forced to part instead of weakly saying goodbye.

A new sound could be heard in the sky. It was distant and high above them. Planes. They weren’t the usual trainers out of Doko Matsura. They were much too high up for that. They were American bombers! He didn’t know how he knew that. In fact, down below he could hear townspeople cheering banzai over and over. Obviously, they thought the aircraft were from the Imperial Air Corps.

Mari sensed something was wrong. He explained, but said that they weren’t about to attack. The planes continued on as a surreal reminder that the war was going on somewhere out there.

Later, Mari discovered from an uncle that the planes were truly American. How could they be? Why wasn’t the navy protecting us? They must have come from aircraft carriers. Much later, the truth came out. The bombers were flying a one-way mission to bomb Tokyo and fly on to China. It had been designed to scare the population. It had worked. Air raid drills and civilian militia exercises were taken much more seriously from that day onward.

The flight of the American planes, and not the silent geese, was what Mari feared would be her lasting memory of that day. But then the boy turned to her and kissed her. It was a shock, inappropriate, a mark that her emotions would not be able to hide. He saw her look and felt certain he had gone too far. She trembled and