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    Aurealis #121
    Aurealis #121
    Aurealis #121
    Ebook170 pages1 hour

    Aurealis #121

    By Stephen Higgins (Editor)

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    About this ebook

    The latest issue of Australia's premier Speculative fiction magazine has loads of great fiction, articles, reviews and fantastic artwork. As usual we feature some of the worlds best writers along with new fiction from new writers.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChimaera Publications
    Release dateJun 1, 2019
    ISBN9781922031785
    Aurealis #121

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      Book preview

      Aurealis #121 - Stephen Higgins (Editor)

      AUREALIS #121

      Edited by Stephen Higgins

      Published by Chimaera Publications at Smashwords

      Copyright of this compilation Chimaera Publications 2019

      Copyright on each story remains with the contributor

      EPUB version ISBN 978-1-922031-78-5

      ISSN 2200-307X (electronic)

      CHIMAERA PUBLICATIONS

      Smashwords Edition License 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 the authors, editors and artists.

      Hard copy back issues of Aurealis can be obtained from the Aurealis website: www.aurealis.com.au

      Contents

      From the Cloud—Stephen Higgins

      Tales of the Flame—Dirk Strasser

      The Stranger of Morden—Mike Adamson

      Club Fiends—Paul Alex Gray

      Chilling Out With Emmet O’Cuana—Eugen Bacon

      We May Have Reached Series Overload—Lachlan Walter

      Has Technology Really Begun to Stagnate?—Daniel Thompson

      Reviews

      Next Issue

      Credits

      From the Cloud

      Stephen Higgins

      Recently I attended the Aurealis Awards ceremony in Melbourne. For those who don’t know, the Aurealis Awards are highly regarded in the industry and recognise excellence in publishing. We started the awards many years ago but I should point out that there’s no connection now between the award organisers and Aurealis magazine. They just share the same name these days. The ceremony was well attended with authors, illustrators, publishers, editors and, of course, readers of speculative fiction.

      The ceremony provides a fantastic opportunity to meet people you might only know from emails and, such is the nature of publishing these days, most of the people I spoke with were indeed people I only really knew via online correspondence. It was pleasing to see a few representatives from the mainstream publishing industry and one can only hope that they saw a wonderful opportunity to perhaps broaden their publishing agendas to incorporate more genre material.

      I only say this because the day after the awards I had a look at the submission guidelines of a major publisher, and I was disappointed to see that they were not interested in receiving any speculative fiction. This was despite the fact that they were indeed the publishers of one of the winners of an Aurealis Award. So I found it hard to believe that they would not be encouraging more submissions in our favourite genres.

      Obviously, this belief is based on the perhaps erroneous belief that award-winning talent equals profit-making capability for a publisher. Goodness knows I’ve heard of many examples of worthy novels going unrecognised in the marketplace, whilst winning critical acclaim. So, how do we increase sales within the speculative fiction industry? We like to think we’re doing our bit here at Aurealis by discovering new writers and providing a place where quality fiction can reach an audience, but clearly, we would like to extend our own audience.

      We receive stories from all over the world. We have subscribers all over the world. Certainly, we’d always like to see more submissions and more subscribers, so by all means tell your friends and encourage them to read Aurealis, subscribe to Aurealis and submit to Aurealis. It doesn’t even have to be in that order!

      All the best from the cloud.

      Stephen Higgins

      Back to Contents

      Tales of the Flame

      Dirk Strasser

      To the Persian Empire and the Roumans of Byzantium, the Rub‘ al-Khali desert in the south-eastern corner of Arabayyā is known as the Empty Quarter, a desolate place of endless sand mountains where nothing grows and nothing breathes. A place where the sun burns bright holes in the sky during the day and the stars shed bitter rays through the night. Yet the Arabayyāns themselves know the Rub‘ al-Khali as the place where the worlds of man and djinn bleed into each other, where desert magic still ekes out an existence.

      Each member of our company had their own reason for travelling through the southern reaches of the Rub‘ al-Khali to Andhur, but of course we did not speak of such things. We had all paid our Bedū guide, Dabarān, handsomely and the bargain required anonymity as well as safe passage. Yet there is always a time deep in the night, when the smokeless flames of the campfire flicker and the day’s hunger has been sated, that tongues and minds are loosened, when men speak of things that should not be spoken and see things that should not be seen and become things they had never been. A time when the teller becomes lost within the tale.

      A man who chose the name of Almir began such a tale of flames…

      It has been told, but only the prophets know the truth…

      Almir spoke with a voice that had travelled to many places. I always look into the eyes of the storyteller to seek his truth as he speaks, but I found the tale he spoke of burgeoned in the night air around me, and I was losing myself as if in a conjured world.

      The tale of the lovers Almir and Sharazād is one around which the djinn winds blow, in another time, on another journey, deep into the Rub‘ al-Khali.

      Almir shuddered as he spoke. It was the last time I noticed the teller over the tale. The thought struck me that I didn’t remember when he had joined the company, but that thought soon shimmered into the story.

      There had been seven in our company, as there are seven in our company now, but Sharazād and I had been separated from the others and were travelling alone. Of Sharazād, I will only tell you that she and I were lovers and that, as we pursued the trail that the others had taken, we spent the nights exploring each other and embracing in sand hollows under the cover of our blankets and the bright carpet of stars. The air hung increasingly heavy with enchantment, and we both drank in its richness during the day’s heat and the night’s sharp bite.

      Allow me a moment to speak of this for I have only felt such a thing once in the many years of my life. It is as if we had been enveloped by an exquisite spell that bound our bodies and thoughts. Sharazād was a teller of tales unlike any I had experienced, and as she whispered a poetry that entwined us, I felt her desert words course through my limbs. The endless roll of the giant dunes, the gentle sway of our camels’ gait, the soft padding of the broad two-toed feet on the desert sands, our bodies awash with veils of sweat, all merged into a deep awareness of each other’s rhythms.

      But, as with every spell, it must eventually be broken.

      We arrived on the edge of a strange forest. At first we rode past stark skeletal trees but as we delved deeper, the trees grew thick and rich, with large clusters of leathery leaves and purple and red flowers.

      This was when the tale grew into full enchantment. It was as if the spell in the story broke for Almir and Sharazād. It came to envelope our company as we sat around the flames. Both teller and listeners were now lost.

      After a while, Almir and Sharazād saw two camels foraging through the trees, eating the leaves and flowers.

      Almir recognised the mounts of two of their former companions. ‘That’s Dabarān’s camel,’ he said—the name Dabarān echoed faintly—‘and I’m sure that one is Etokan’s. They must be nearby.’

      They tethered the two camels to their pack camels and continued.

      Deeper in the forest they came across a copse of lush trees. Hanging from their branches and littered around their trunks were hundreds of heavenly-scented fruit slightly larger than the size of a coconut. Foraging along the ground was a band of strange one-eyed yellow-furred monkeys.

      Almir and Sharazād watched as the monkeys ripped back the thick red peel from the fruit and buried their faces in it, eating hungrily and not bringing their faces back up until the whole fruit was eaten. When they had finished, they would discard the peel and throw back their heads in a blood-curdling shriek of satisfaction, the coarse red pulp of the fruit staining their lips and chins.

      ‘We should try some of this fruit,’ said Sharazād. ‘Can you smell its fragrance?’

      ‘I don’t trust these monkeys.’

      ‘Haven’t you grown tired of sand-infested dates and unleavened bread covered in ash?’

      ‘Of course, but—’

      ‘Look, those monkeys are enjoying them.’ She took in a deep breath and drew in the fruit’s heady fragrance. ‘I’m going to get one.’

      Sharazād walked towards one of the trees, and the monkeys glared at her with their single eyes. As she reached down to pick up one of the fruits, the monkeys went into a sudden frenzy, baring their ferociously sharp teeth, shrieking and screaming and throwing fruit husks in her direction. She scooped the fruit and raced back to her camel with the monkeys chasing her. Then she and Almir rode off quickly with the tethered camels in tow and the monkeys soon gave up

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