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Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2017)
Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2017)
Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2017)
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Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2017)

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Now in our NINTH YEAR! Celebrate the wonderful range of styles within the speculative fiction genres with our newest issue of the Bards and Sages Quarterly. From the lighthearted to the heart-pounding, this special double-length issue will delight short fiction fans. In this issue, stories by Brenda Anderson, Tom Anstead, Dawn Bonanno, Jennie Brass, Christine Chang, Arthur Davis, Sarina Dorie, L.S. Engler, Olga Godim, Karen Heslop, David Landrum, Jared Leonard, Jacob Mielke, Fredrick Obermeyer, Nidhi Singh, Jessie Volk, and R.G. Ziemer.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 2, 2017
ISBN9781386228295
Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2017)
Author

Sarina Dorie

As a child, Sarina Dorie dreamed of being an astronaut/archeologist/fashion designer/illustrator/writer. Later in life, after realizing this might be an unrealistic goal, Sarina went to the Pacific NW College of Art where she earned a degree in illustration. After realizing this might also be an unrealistic goal, she went to Portland State University for a master’s in education to pursue the equally cut-throat career of teaching art in the public school system. After years of dedication to art and writing, most of Sarina’s dreams have come true; in addition to teaching, she is a writer/artist/ fashion designer/ belly dancer. She has shown her art internationally, sold art to Shimmer Magazine for an interior illustration, and another piece is on the April 2011 cover of Bards and Sages. Sarina’s novel, Silent Moon, won second place in the Duel on the Delta Contest, hosted by River City RWA and the Golden Rose contest hosted by Rose City Romance Writers. Silent Moon won third place in the Winter Rose Contest hosted by the Yellow Rose RWA and third place in Ignite the Flame Contest hosted by Central Ohio Fiction Writers. Now, if only Jack Sparrow asks her to marry him, all her dreams will come true. www.sarinadorie.com You can find more of Sarina Dorie’s work online at the following webzines: “Zombie Psychology,” Untied Shoelaces of the Mind http://www.untiedshoelacesofthemind.com/Issue5/psych.php “Losing One’s Appetite,” Daily Science Fiction http://dailysciencefiction.com/fantasy/Monsters/sarina-dorie/losing-ones-appetite “Worse Than a Devil,” Crossed Genres http://crossedgenres.com/archives/035-dark-comedy/worse-than-a-devil-by-sarina-dorie/ “A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting Humans,” Whidbey Student Choice award http://whidbeystudents.com/2011/03/01/new-for-march/ The following stories are soon to be released, “That Stupid Dragon Rider” to the ROAR 5 Anthology, “Greener on the Other Side” to Allasso and Blackboard Galaxy to Untied Shoelaces of the Mind.

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    Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2017) - Sarina Dorie

    Time Monkeys and the Fullness of Glasses

    By Dawn Bonanno

    ––––––––

    Hachi Station was jumping for a Restday Eve. Marina had enough of the crowd and headed for the door when a man showed up in an illegal purple haze, leaving Marina in a coughing fit from inhaling the dust.

    Hey! The last thing she wanted to do was get any closer to the newcomer, but apparently, he didn't check the rules before landing. Someone needed to set him straight, and since most of the patrons were hybrids with gill flaps over their intakes and submerged in the various hot pools, none of them were going to bother. It was bad enough she was a landwalker in a bar full of hybrids, she also happened to be a veteran auditor and compulsive rule upholder. She really should have stayed in tonight.

    Marina covered her mouth with one hand and tapped the tall orange stranger on the shoulder. He swung around, eyes gleaming. She felt mesmerized and forgot all about the coughing and the purple haze. Heat rushed up her spine and her mouth dried. He was handsome, even with the orange skin. Brown hair waved back from his forehead into a long braid that trailed forward over his shoulder and continued down to... She blushed and averted her gaze.

    Something I can help you with, miss? His voice was smooth, silky, and almost in her head instead of hitting her ears.

    Your little entrance, Marina said.

    Blue teeth gleamed at her. She wasn't sure if he was trying to flirt or threaten her.

    It's... lovely but disturbing. Can you tone it down before the air-breathers choke?

    You have no idea who I am. He caught her in his gaze, his eyes deep and dreamy blue, like his teeth. Where had she seen a race with coloring like his? He was taller than most humans and even most hybrids, but he didn't show signs of hybrid genetics. No gills, no wings, no tail. He had to be a native, which was worse. It meant he was a native hitting a traveler's facility.

    She smiled, and though she'd preferred to have walked away, she had to finish this. You sir, are ruining my evening. I don't care if you're the Prime Minister of Tivolia. This station is open to all species.

    All species, yes.

    So long as they follow the rules.

    You imply I've broken a rule. He leaned closer.

    Yes, my good sir, you have.

    I set those rules.

    Marina laughed. That's a good one.

    He pulled out an official name card. Ozenious, Prime Minister, Tiviola.

    Marina's face warmed, and she coughed, despite the purple haze having cleared. Her knack for memorizing facts had her right-on for the existence of a prime minister, but she hadn't visualized the natives' characteristics and applied them to real people. It happened to her too often. She should've just hidden under the covers tonight. That still doesn't excuse you, but honestly, I'm the only one troubled by it. I might as well get going. My ship is probably queuing up to depart.

    I could put a hold on that if it suits you, until after we've had a drink? He bowed to her, a Tiviola custom when a man turns a relationship from business to personal. The lowering of one heart before another, showing one's heart and soul to another being. It would have been easier if he'd just placed his fist to his heart to indicate honor and respect, but no, he'd gone too far.

    So why did she say yes?

    I should correct myself, Ozenious said as he handed her a tall glass of steamy white liquid. That rule is in place because it prevents the time monkeys from zipping in and out.

    Marina furrowed a brow. Time monkeys.

    Clever little things. They fold time with their tails—which is why some hybrids have tails isn't it?—and the byproduct of the fold is the purple haze. Whereas with my people, we don't need tails to fold time.

    But you do fold time?

    When it's important.

    Like tonight?

    Ozenious tapped her wrist. If you had walked out when you did, a Fanellian terrorist would have taken you hostage.

    Marina slammed the glass down, not even taking a sip. That could still happen. You can't thwart fate by changing events.

    True, but I saved you from that terrorist.

    And what about the next one?

    If I escort you back to your ship, there won't be a next one.

    Nice line. Marina slid the glass back to him. Try it on someone else, Zen. Or better yet, don't.

    I assure you, it’s no line. If all I wanted was your attention, I'd have ambushed you at your ship's airlock.

    Like she was really going to end up there tonight. Her people's Restday Eve festivities were too rambunctious. She hadn't anticipated the activity here competing with them. One more line from him, and he'd wear her drink.

    Ozenious slid her glass back. It's rude to turn down a drink.

    It's rude to choke someone with space/time folding byproduct. She lifted the glass and slung it at him—but was surrounded by a purple haze and couldn't control her coughing. The glass, completely full, rested by her right hand.

    Think again, love.

    It took her a second to process this. You time traveled on me?

    I could have gone back to my entrance, but then you'd have been oblivious.

    She backed away. You're having too much fun with this.

    Actually, I'm not. He sighed and deflated a bit as he leaned his arms on the bar. I'm experiencing hormonal fluctuations that result in unintentional time skips. Back, forward, seconds, minutes. The doctors can't help me. They said to stay away from people until it stabilizes. Avoid attention, avoid physical contact.

    So, you come here, tonight. Great way to stay away from people. A laugh bubbled up from her throat. No terrorist then?

    He grinned, blue teeth gleaming. Should I have stuck with the terrorist story?

    Marina grinned. You'll have to wait for the next skip to see what I would have said. She sipped at the sweet drink. Although, she half turned and nodded toward a hybrid hugging the wall in a pale pink dress that accentuated her gills. She might fall for that one.

    Ozenious pressed his fist to his heart and abandoned his stool. Please excuse my sudden departure. Time is a spineless beast and very squirmy. A purple haze surrounded him as he crossed the room in impossible time and arrived at the hybrid's spot on the wall. In seconds, he'd charmed her enough they walked down to the hot pool together.

    Marina was about to order another drink when she spied a monkey tail on the bartender's backside. He turned and winked at her then returned to serving drinks to the other patrons, seconds after they were ordered.

    And I thought my people were lively tonight. She raised her hand and gestured to the bartender. I'll have—

    A tall glass of steaming white liquid was served to her.

    No more avoiding Restday Eve for me, she thought as she lifted her glass at Ozenious. Squirmy indeed—and kept her glass full. 

    First published in Daily Science Fiction (July 2014). Reprinted with permission.

    Bathroom Battles

    By Arthur Davis

    ––––––––

    He thinks he can hide from me, but I have seen his type before. They're all alike; hideously malevolent creatures who swarm in the night and impose themselves into places once thought to be uncompromisingly private.

    He doesn't see me yet, but he will. He will move around the white room, my white room, the white room that is my private sanctuary until he finds something to eat then move on as though he had already been granted permission to undertake such an expedition. As is common with creatures of his persuasion, he thinks there is no danger in his future. This time I will not hide as I did before on the pretext of watching the bloom of his nefarious activity. This time I will tell him that he has breached the boundaries of my territory once too often. This will be the last time he will assert his arrogance. I will hide and wait him out. Then I will pounce.

    How slowly he moves. How precarious is his ambulation. Every few steps he pauses, as would any coward, uncertain of his next step. Fortunately, he does not see the flake of food that has lodged in a long black crevasse some distance behind him. I have had my eye on that fragment for some time. Had not the giant beast entered as I was making my way towards that morsel, I would now be in my lair with enough food to last for some time. Then again, if I had completed my mission, I would have lost the opportunity to confront this interloper, this miscreant, and forcefully eject him from my domain.

    Look there. He can't even stay on his feet. Maybe he ate something that disagrees with him. He certainly doesn't look bright enough to know the difference between wholesome food and common poison set out by the beasts, and hardly smart enough to know right from wrong. There he goes. Another few staggering steps. I might laugh aloud except I don't want to give him an excuse to run from me. I want this confrontation, this opportunity, to punish the fool. Why does he keep thrusting his head so close to the wall? What is his problem?

    He has placed himself in a poor position to observe the movements beyond the portal through which the beasts come and go. If he keeps up this heedless disregard, the beasts will return, see him, and crush him out of existence before he can reposition his antennae.

    It is so easy for them. I couldn't picture myself killing off another creature simply because they are smaller than I am. No, that is not true. It's boastful and misleading. I have taken the lives of those less agile many times. If I had not, I might not have survived. I just want to make myself believe the giant beasts are more evil than they are. Or is it envy that I will never stride the soil beneath my six feet with such presumption as they do on two?

    There. He's finally figured out whatever it was that had so first captured his attention. Finally, he is moving along. Soon he will be directly across the room from me. Then I will move to the center of the space, claim my rightful position, and wait until he takes note of me. Then he will have to decide—fight or flight. I believe he is a coward. He will flee when he sees me stand my ground. He will not commit to a confrontation. Such is the way of all poltroons. I have seen their kind before. They are the most loathsome subspecies of our kind.

    Ah. Here they come again, the beasts that can destroy us all in a dash of a wink. Giants, all of them. I've seen as many as three and four gather together in this confined chamber. I've seen hundreds in hideously noisy gatherings in larger chambers. I've heard that thousands can congregate for rituals too horrible to detail here. Fortunately, I am safe behind this large white bowl that springs from the ground and belches up a roaring thunder at their very touch.

    Look at that fool. He doesn't even know he's in danger. With any luck, the beasts will spot him and do my work for me. It's not that I am afraid of him or anything like that. It's just that I believe the smartest survive over all others. It's not the size that counts as much as quickness and cunning.

    Oh, no. Not the noise. Such terrible sounds. How can they stand to listen to each other's voice? How can any creature make such unbearably impossible squeals and tormenting high-pitched squeaks? How did they ever get to such dominance? The mere fact these festering dolts stride over the world is testimony to my belief that there can't possibly be an almighty.

    Why would any deity have given such power to such unworthy animals? Their tentacles embrace the other's body. I've seen this kind of demonstration before. The way they rub their bodies against one another also leaves me puzzled. It makes no sense, yet I've seen them do it in and out of their skins and often in the softness of their natural flesh. And the noise they make during this ridiculous interaction makes no sense. Their voices are terrible enough. This manifestation only makes them more unpleasant to accept.

    Now they're shedding their skins. I was afraid of that. I'll move further back behind the bowl so that I am not injured by the rain of debris. Layers and layers of bright, colored skins fall to the checkered, white floor until a pile obstructs my vision of my enemy. If he has a brain in his head, he would take this opportunity to hide. But I doubt he is that alert.

    More embracing and grasping and in a flash, they're gone. The pile of their fetid skins remains in the center of the room. A mass of height and unpleasantness, it is surely an indication of the blight they represent. They will be back, though, knowing the subspecies as I do, but not for some time. Now, what to do? I still have not eaten. And, while there is always food embedded in their foul skins, it is nourishment nevertheless. But I am more interested, no intrigued, by an adversary that waits beyond. I am superstitious enough to know that once you've set out on a path, nothing should deter you from your appointed goal. The elimination of my enemy is reason enough to keep me focused on completing the necessities of my life.

    The noises from the giant beasts can be heard in the distance. I recognize it for what it is, not that I understand or particularly want to know its social significance. Suffice it is to say, there is time enough for me to do what has to be done before they return to cause thunder to erupt in the white bowl overhead or pick up their skins and fasten them to their obscene, distorted bodies. They are in the other chambers deep within their nest. I have been in all of them and feel safe only in this white room. I cannot explain why nor do I feel it is important to do so. Their many other chambers are filled with what they believe are necessary to sustain them when all that should matter are character and survival. I do believe the future will prove them lacking in the first, which will surely undermine their ability to sustain the second.

    Now I will make my move. A quick skitter propels me to the side of the pile of skins. I surprise myself with my agility and speed. Few others of my kind could've covered the distance from behind the white bowl to the middle of the room and the pile of skins in such time. I am not even winded. I am filled with my own possibilities. I have not survived this long because of hesitation or cowardice.

    My lord, the smell is terrific. How can they stand themselves? The stench is so overwhelming they should suffocate from their own scent. I have two choices now if I am to locate him. I can burrow through this mess or go around it, which is preferable because it will give me a continuous view of my surroundings. I could of course climb over this heap, but that would take too long and leave me vulnerable should the beasts return before I have completed my hunt. No, I will move carefully along the perimeter. I will find him and, if he chooses not to leave, destroy him. Then, if there is time, I will hold my breath and feast on the tiny animals that weave their lives in the skins of the beasts.

    Slowly now, I must maneuver myself around the side of the skins, always keeping in sight the portal through which the giant beasts pass and beyond which is their monstrous warren. Were I that large, oh what I could make of life then. Another few steps now, and he's disappeared. There is no trace of him. The flake of food remains untouched. A few more short steps take me nearly around to the other side of the pile of

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