Tag: Free Fantasy

Editor's Pick Mythic Fantasy Short Fiction

A Clash of Wind and Lightning

Throughout its history, mountains in this region were more for the hardy and less for the fashionable. Spirits claimed the high places, and durable men and women claimed the places in between. Settlers of the upper valleys eked out a living and raised their families in splendid and harsh isolation, vaguely but persistently aware of the forces above. Few there were who ventured up the steeps though it was known that the highland meadows were good for grazing. Every so often, however, the high fever seized upon a restless, earthbound soul, and up past the crags he would go to…

Dark Fantasy Serial Fiction

SOIL — Part Four

FOUR The bairns speak trilling voices in the night, harsh echoes dancing, afright of the hoary and weighty squalor of unending sleep. Messages delivered nigh, grasped in sharp talons of ravens, crows, pigeons; whether the cock-crows or refuses to show. May our dreams stay safe; for our sleeps are fraught and the days, so dark, as the sun burrows deep, quaffs the Devil’s draught, As if the accursed swill were as naught but cool, clear water, a gentle man’s drink, atop the Great Mothers’ hill. Ithica (b. 413). Journaled year 442. I After living in the temperate embrace of the…

Dark Fantasy Short Fiction

The Talekeeper

The weight of old words, pages unread. I carried it with me in those days. Close to my breast I clutched it under my cloak as if holding myself together. I was filthy-faced and rough-bearded, seldom speaking to another living soul. Carriages steered in wide arcs around me on the road; lanterns dimmed in windowsills when I passed. If I came across a group of children they would scatter upon seeing me. When I left a town, tales sometimes spread of a witch’s thrall shambling by night or a bogeyman carrying a sack of bone and gristle on his back.…

Dark Fantasy Serial Fiction

SOIL — Part Three

THREE Oft I’ve seen you in the night, or a wan image of you. A pale imitation compared to your brilliance and bright devotion by day. Oft my dreams are fraught. Corrupted echos of memories long faded, extinguished. Long have I languished in nightmares beset; they fall upon me, gnashing, dark creatures of the long black night. Though tonight, it shall not be black demon nor red devil that plagues ill mine troubled thoughts. Nay, I see you, my father as you were in my youth. And you visit my dreams, in your arms you carry another. A boy with…

Heroic Fantasy Short Fiction

The First War

Barrin burst from the raging rapids that had battered him pitilessly from one squall to the next, gasping for precious breath. Muscles borne of tireless work and ceaseless training powered him to the bank, where he dragged himself crawling out of the rapids, then further up a slope, to a point where he could finally fall, face buried in the mud and the silt. He sighed, satisfied. Once again, he emerged from battle undefeated. Not all enemies carried swords and spears. Not all enemies wet their small clothes at the sight of the beast he had become. Some enemies were…

Dark Fantasy Serial Fiction

SOIL — Part Two

TWO Why must the wind blow when Earth does not know that the Mourning Sun shines, as my light slowly declines? How many years must I wait for you, so belated, to arrive? For how long must I hate, curdling mine blood that turns to shit like soured butter lodged in the devil’s churn? How many moons must I fester brining within bitter salt? Must I scream my soul’s lament, cast mine curse upon the gods for all they have wrought? Or shall I sing a sweet refrain awake tomorrow and do it all again? Ithica (b. 413). Journaled Year…

Gaslamp Fantasy Short Fiction

I Was Once Yours

Blood: a pearl droplet on the meat of his thumb. Glass: a sliver, imperceptible aside from subtle pressure between two layers of skin. Teeth: parallel to the wound, sucking at the shard. It is no use. Artavan swears amid the percussion of the glass grinder crashing to the floor. A pocket watch in his leather apron chirps: two hours. The blood brings relief that it exists at all. It is him, small red pieces of him, free to bead and run. He checks his reflection in the polished lighthouse lens. A russet smear on his front teeth. He moves his…

Short Fiction Sword and Sorcery

Once is Never Enough

Aisling held what remained of Blightheart by his horn, throwing the goblin magelord’s head at the boots of her liege lord, Árdghal, who had commanded his fighters to cleanse his lands of the vile bastard’s black magic. “You have done well, Aisling.” He leaned forward in his throne, examining the grotesque grimace gazing upward from the straw and cobbles. Aisling did not kneel. She did not bow her head. Tough as leather, she crossed her sinewy arms and smirked. She met her liege lord’s eyes as if she were his equal, as if she were his better. “The deed is…

Dark Fantasy Serial Fiction

SOIL — Part One

ONE In the dead of night I pray for your arrival and dream of your smile yearning for your scent. By the light of day I am left alone beside myself and entirely distraught. To know your father is to know your potential to hear Bridget’s plans and to see them in action with hopes they soon come to pass. Ithica (b. 413). Journaled Year 433. I Year 442 Loathsome winds howled their bitter protests as I shouldered my way up the slope, still slick with ice and hard-packed snow. Last storm was days past, but the early Winter freeze…

Dark Fantasy Editor's Pick Short Fiction

The King of Kings

The shroud was pale, it hurt the eyes. Kohl over the eyelids shielded just enough, but a single overt glance sent a surge of piercing thunder straight back into the skull. Selikkar had warned the sun was deadly, but it barely stood a dissuasion. She had spoken of prophecies and gods unrecorded, decried that Neliesen’s journey was not sufficient to appease nature’s forces, yet It departed, and It walked into a storm It could not see to test the legitimacy of Its order’s teachings. The sand burned wherever it hit the skin, like bee stings of flaming magma which overstayed…