Broad Spectrum: The 2012 Broad Universe Fiction Sampler

By Broad Universe

Twenty-nine excerpts and complete short stories from members of Broad Universe, an organization promoting women in genre fiction: fantasy, horror and science fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Broad Universe
• Release date: Oct 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301108206

Broad Universe

Broad Universe is an international non-profit organization dedicated to promoting, encouraging, honoring, and celebrating women writers and editors in science fiction, fantasy, horror and other speculative genres.

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B

road Spectrum

The 2012 Broad Universe Fiction Sampler

http://www.BroadUniverse.org/

- Smashwords ebook edition -

Copyrights

Dance to Fend Off the Sky copyright © 2010 Deirdre M. Murphy. First appeared at TornWorld.net.

Beast in Show copyright © 2012 Kate Kaynak. Reprinted with permission from Spencer Hill Press

M.U.S.E. copyright © 2012 Kimberley Long-Ewing. Reprinted with permission from Spencer Hill Press

Soul Mates copyright © 2012 Jaleta Clegg

Silver Moon copyright © 2012 Catherine Lundoff

Non Si Muove copyright © 2011 MeiLin Miranda

The Moth Collector's Daughter copyright © 2012 Ripley Patton

Photo of a Mermaid copyright © 2012 Trisha J Wooldridge. Reprinted with permission from Spencer Hill Press

The Right Asteroid copyright © 2012 Michelle Murrain

Mind Over Mind copyright © 2011 Karina Fabian. Reprinted with permission from Dragon Moon Press.

A Shower of Fireflies copyright © 2012 Ursula Pflug

Quiz copyright © 2009 Nancy Jane Moore

Beneath the Hallowed Hill copyright © 2012 Theresa Crater. Reprinted with permission from Eternal Press.

Tsekil copyright © 2012 M.C.A. Hogarth

La Divina Commedia copyright © 2012 Katherine Mankiller

Lord Bai's Discovery copyright © 2012 Jean Marie Ward. Reprinted with permission from Dark Quest Books.

The Lady of Seeking in the City of Waiting copyright © 2012 Jennifer Brozek. Reprinted with permission from Dark Quest Books.

Heavens and Shadows copyright © 2012 KT Pinto

Dilemma copyright © 2012 Marcy Arlin

Seeing Things copyright © 2012 Kater Cheek

Of Blood and Brandy copyright © 2012 J. Kathleen Cheney. Reprinted with permission.

House of Em copyright © 2012 Lynda Williams

Today's Promise copyright © 2012 Danielle Ackley-McPhail. Reprinted with permission from Dark Quest Books.

Today There is No Pain copyright © 2012 Justine Graykin

Bride of Tranquility copyright © 2009 Tracy S. Morris

Threaded Through Time (Book One) copyright © 2012 Sarah Ettritch

Drowning copyright © 2012 Katherine Sanger

The Isle copyright © 2012 Sylvia Kelso

The Souvenir You Most Want copyright © 2012 Sue Burke

The Willimantic Frogs copyright © 2012 K. A. Laity

Psyche's Search copyright © 2012 Ann Gimpel

Matcher Rules copyright © 2011 Mary Holland

Publisher's Note

These selections are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover art by Rhea Ewing

http://www.RheaEwing.com/

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Table of Contents

Dance to Fend Off the Sky by Deirdre M. Murphy

Beast in Show by Kate Kaynak

Non Si Muove by MeiLin Miranda

M.U.S.E. by Kimberley Long-Ewing

Photo of a Mermaid by Trisha J Wooldridge

Soul Mates by Jaleta Clegg

The Right Asteroid (novel excerpt) by Michelle Murrain

Silver Moon (excerpt from forthcoming novel) by Catherine Lundoff

A Shower of Fireflies by Ursula Pflug

The Moth Collector's Daughter by Ripley Patton

Beneath the Hallowed Hill by Theresa Crater

DILEMMA by Marcy Arlin

Tsekil by M.C.A. Hogarth

Lord Bai's Discovery by Jean Marie Ward

Seeing Things by Kater Cheek

La Divina Commedia by Katherine Mankiller

Heavens and Shadows by KT Pinto

House of Em (excerpt) by Lynda Williams

The Lady of Seeking in the City of Waiting by Jennifer Brozek

Of Blood and Brandy by J. Kathleen Cheney

Today's Promise by Danielle Ackley-McPhail

Quiz by Nancy Jane Moore

Today There Is No Pain by Justine Graykin

Bride of Tranquility by Tracy S. Morris

Mind Over Mind by Karina Fabian

Threaded Through Time (Book One) by Sarah Ettritch

Drowning by Katherine Sanger

The Isle Is Full of Noises by Sylvia Kelso

The Souvenir You Most Want by Sue Burke

The Willimantic Frogs by K. A. Laity

Matcher Rules (excerpt) by Mary Holland

Psyche's Search by Ann Gimpel

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Dance to Fend Off the Sky

A Torn World Story

by Deirdre M. Murphy

Kunabei was tired of trying to keep her charges together. Each of the goats was certain that it knew the best way up the mountain. She was also tired of their friendly voices, tired of their squabbles, and very tired of swatting them away from nibbling at the fringe on her shirt or the grass stains on her boots, or, truth be told, everything she was carrying or wearing.

Most of the time, she preferred the company of goats to that of humans. The goats, at least, listened to her. Being goats, after listening, they did whatever they wanted. But first they listened, something her older sisters never did.

However, today she didn't want company of any sort at all, and especially goats. Still, she pushed onward. Her favorite haven was very close. She could hear the tiny waterfall that spilled out of the valley, and smell the water in the air. The goats could smell it too: they lifted their noses and stopped fighting her, moving forward eagerly.

Kunabei did a quick search for snakes or any other evidence of danger, the bells on her prayer staff chiming cheerfully as she walked. Then, she left the goats in the pretty little valley. After two days of sparse fodder and no moisture but dew as they climbed, even old Hat Trick wouldn’t leave the ice-cold spring and fragrant flower-dotted grass. They’d all eat until their bellies protruded like pregnant women's, and then, just like pregnant women, they’d settle down for a nice, long nap.

This would be her first chance in days to spend a few hours without even goat snores interrupting the peace. Kunabei smiled. Now, she could finally enjoy the quiet which had drawn her to the mountains despite the danger of angry wraiths.

She scrambled up out of the valley, stopping every few paces to swing the prayer staff, tipped with sturdy metal bells. She raised it high over her head, swinging it with careful vigor.

She headed around the side of the rocks to the north of the valley. With the sun heading downward, she thought she would be able to see Affabreidalam in the distance. She thought, perhaps, she might see the towers that marked the University that all the teachers talked about. Instead, she found a carpet of clouds, puffy white with blue shadows, the higher edges starting to take on pink and gold highlights.

Kunabei exclaimed in delight. It was beautiful.

It was better than beautiful. The thick clouds, with drifts reaching higher than her head, meant it was safe to move around freely; if any wraiths were present, they would disturb the clouds. Teeth flashing, she planted the staff in the ground—it would be disrespectful to lay the metal bells on the ground, and wasteful as well, since then she’d have to re-oil them to keep them from rusting away.

She wandered over the rocks, peering at lichens and mushrooms, and carefully avoiding a blinkbird nest. Then, she noticed there was now a second waterfall, and the old bed where the stream had flowed off the plateau was dry. It was steep, but looked climbable. She'd wondered all her life what was up on that plateau. She ran back to grab the staff.

She scrambled up to the plateau, and waved her bells through the mist. It trailed after the bells like the ribbons attached to ball whistles for dances on the anniversary of Obo's return. Still holding the bells high, Kunabei looked around.

The plateau was flatter than she expected, covered in low grasses and wildflowers. There were rocks and boulders clustered at the edges of the plateau, and in the center, a wide, flat space about the size of the village dancing-ground. She moved forward, the low-lying clouds curling around her as she walked, alternately revealing and hiding the mountains around her. She placed the staff at the near edge of the flat area, and checked that both sets of ball whistles were tucked securely into her belt.

Kunabei started to dance, empty handed, rejoicing in the freedom of dancing quietly, like a child in the lowlands. She circled slowly at first, checking the ground for rocks, dips, holes, puddles and other potentially dangerous obstacles. Then, the ground mapped out in her head, she started to move faster, whirling and kicking, then leaping and tumbling.

The silence was intense, the mists curling around her as she danced, and drifting after her like an extra garment, grey and white slowly deepening into gold and purple and orange—all the colors of the sunset. Kunabei felt her spirit soar, and wondered what it would be like to fly high and free, like a wraith.

She shook her head. How could the wraiths be so angry at the physical world, when they could fly higher than anyone else—human, goat, or bird—could hope to safely go?

The silence was broken by a loud crack, and then the tumbling of rocks. Quickly, Kunabei reached for the primary ball-whistles tucked into her belt, carefully slipping two fingers on each hand through the soft leather handles and twisting to allow the long strap to move freely outside the fists that held the handles tight. Automatically, with skills born of years of practice, she kept the straps untangled, and sent the heavy metal balls whirling around her head and body.

Once she was safely surrounded by the sound of the whistles, she looked around. Where was the wraith? She wouldn’t see it, of course—no one could see wraiths. But she had been trained to watch for the effects of wraiths on the physical things of the world.

She held back her urge to run and check on the goats. The crack she’d heard had come from her north, but it was low—almost as low as where she stood.

There—she spotted the sharp bright line of unweathered stone. It was close—too close. Just one hill over. Worse, there was a gap in the mist, coming toward her. Her heart raced as she spun the whistles faster, their shriek rising in pitch, keeping them carefully between her and the wraith. She had to be very careful—hitting herself right now, or tangling the straps, or doing anything else that could slow their spin would probably mean her death.

She couldn’t easily retreat; she was at a far edge of her dancing-ground. The land to one side dropped off, and the other side held loose rocks and puddles. The wraith, as evidenced by the empty spot in the clouds, surrounded by an area of oddness—a few huge drops of rain splattering on the rocks and plants below, and an occasional odd sparkle in the air—moved steadily, if slowly, toward her.

Her mouth grew dry, and her heart raced. Her grandfather Kunono, who had taught her the whistle dances, had never actually encountered a wraith close-up. No one she had ever met had survived an encounter. The last priestess on record who had was her grandfather’s mother, Rai-Konalei. Bright Konalei, who, after her encounter with the wraith, had been sought after to bless babies and lead tourists through the mountains. Her scorched and partially-melted ball-whistles still hung in a place of honor in Kunono’s booth on market day.

Step by careful, slow step, Kunabei moved sideways and back, heading toward where she’d left the prayer staff. It marked the path back to the goats, and would provide some protection from the wraith if it tried to follow her past that point—if she could get that far.

She glanced that way—she had too far to go at her current pace. She started moving faster, her breath catching in her throat. Three steps, five, seven—she tripped, and twisted, stepping toward the wraith in her attempt to keep the whistles spinning separately, more or less between her and it.

There was a sharp crack and a bright light. Kunabei fell backward as a sharp smell like lightning filled the air, followed by the stink of burnt leather. One of her whistles spun crazily, then clouted her in the head. The other whistle fell to the ground in front of her, hot and smoking, the leather strap scorched almost to her hand. She’d killed a wraith.

Goat dung! She scrambled backward, leaving red streaks on the rocks, and pulled out her secondary set of whistles. Unsteadily, she stood, and started spinning the second set of whistles. The lore said that wraiths did not always travel alone.

As she spun the whistles in the simplest, basic child’s pattern, she realized she was hurt. Her arm was bleeding, her back and butt were bruised, and one ankle throbbed in time with her heart’s pounding. She searched the sky—the whole area. The mists were once again swirling naturally in the wind, for the moment. She stopped spinning the whistles long enough to tuck the whistle that clouted her in the head into her belt. Then, she picked up the still-hot whistle by hooking the cast loop with the tip of her knife, and spinning just one secondary whistle, limped over to the prayer-staff.

She gave the bells a ritual shake, still looking and listening for any evidence of a wraith. Everything looked safe, and she had to get back to the goats before her ankle stiffened too much to climb. She tucked the secondary whistles carefully into her belt and leaned on the prayer staff as she climbed back down to the peaceful, sheltered valley.

The goats greeted her sleepily, and Kunabei rubbed their ears and noses, very glad, suddenly, for their company. If people realized what had just happened, they'd be calling her Rai-Kunabei, and pestering her for blessings, for the rest of her life. She shuddered, and pulled one of her uncooperative, fractious charges into a rough, unsatisfying hug.

That night, her ankle bound in strips of her shirt and propped up on Sweet Eyes, she examined the scorched ball-whistle. It had the characteristic iridescence and jagged crackling that her great-grandmother’s whistles still had, but bright and new. For a moment, she considered claiming she simply lost it. But no matter how much hassle might go with being Rai-Kunabei, there was honor too.

She’d faced a monster and survived. And more—she’d seen a rare truth, and now knew that despite all the honor given to the Empire’s scientists, her illiterate, supposedly superstitious ancestors knew things that no scientist knew.

Rai-Kunabei looked thoughtfully at the whistle, its shape distorted and marked by soot where the reed had been. It was strange to think that the event that had silenced the whistle had given her a voice that would be not only listened to, but sought after, at least by her own people. And who knew—maybe now her voice could someday reach as far as the University.

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Beast in Show

By Kate Kaynak

Excerpted with permission from: UnCONventional: Twenty-Two Tales of