A Consortium of Worlds No. 3: A Consortium of Worlds, #3

By Courtney Cantrell, Joshua Unruh, Jessie Sanders and 2 more

Peep through the keyhole that is A Consortium of Worlds for a glimpse of Consortium Books's outstanding stable of speculative fiction authors. A Consortium of Worlds is a showcase of new and innovative voices in all types of fiction from a publisher dedicated to allowing every writer his or her own voice.

There are no slaves to trends or what's-hot lists here, only writers imagining newer and brighter vistas of unseen tomorrows, untold yesterdays, unknown todays, and untouched worlds of pure imagination.

We welcome newcomer Heather Sutherlin as she spins a barroom tale that is equal parts chilling and thrilling. Courtney Cantrell pulls back the curtain of madness to show that an insane woman may see more of the multiverse than her jailers. Joshua Unruh introduces a pulp hero for the modern world who battles one of the greatest villains of the 20th century. Jessie Sanders gives us the first of a two-part tale of a war torn nation and its refugees. Thomas Beard once again takes us into humanity's history to show that superheroics existed even before a certain someone burst on the scene with an S on his chest.

This issue is Volume 3 of the quarterly magazine. Approximately 25,000 words. Edited by Courtney Cantrell and Joshua Unruh.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Masked Fox Productions
• Release date: Jul 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781498938662

Courtney Cantrell

Courtney Cantrell was born in Texas and grew up in Germany. At age 12, she penned her first novel: a one-page murder mystery. (The gardener did it.) By age 17, she had finished two full-length sci-fi novels. After earning her bachelor’s degree in English/Writing from Oklahoma Christian University, Courtney worked as a missionary in Germany for six years. She then returned to Oklahoma City to begin writing full time. As of 2012, she has completed ten novels in multiple genres. Courtney lives with her husband, their cat, and an assortment of cross-cultural doohickeys. She is a founding artist at ConsortiumOKC.com, a contributing editor at writing advice site UnstressedSyllables.com, and a regular blogger at her own courtcan.com.

Book preview

Arthuro's Port

by Heather Sutherlin

My, how I had missed London. I had been too long away from the place I knew best. As I strolled down the cobbled streets, I soaked in the bustle of my favorite part of the city. The ancient stone buildings sitting here on the edge of the river Thames for hundreds of years, their edges worn smooth by weather and their doorsteps narrowed by thousands of feet that had crossed their thresholds in times gone by, brought on a wave of nostalgia that was hard to choke down. Overhead, wooden signs hung over the different shops, and I smiled at the antiquated stylings that advertised the businesses of the neighborhood, not a single modern billboard among them.

Here was the flower shop that I remembered my mum loving, and the barber where I had received my first haircut. Next came a small bakery with its door open to tempt passersby, the scent of freshly baked bread pouring out into the street. Many of the shop owners waved to me as I passed by, and even a few people in the street stopped me to say hello. I had forgotten how much the neighbors had seemed like a family in this corner of the city - tight knit and protective. Now that I thought about it, most of them looked a lot alike, too. The baker looked as though she could be the florist's sister, but I knew that wasn't right.

As I stood there pretending to contemplate a plate of biscuits in the shop window, I realized that time had been good to them. I hadn't really expected to recognize so many people, but they all looked very much like they had when I moved away as a boy. I laughed to myself and shuffled on down the street. Who knew the secret to aging was hiding in a forgotten corner of London along the Thames? Maybe I should move back before I started losing hair like my uncle Harold!

I stopped and stared up at a faded sign above an even more faded door. Arthuro's Port it proclaimed in dark blue letters on a faded gray background, established AD 412.

Shaking my head with a laugh, I pushed on the heavy, wooden door.

Welcome, friend, said Arthuro as I walked through the door. He looked the same as I remembered him. I swear he hadn't aged a day. The same weathered skin, the same piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right past your words and into your motives. Wrinkles gathered near his eyes as though he had squinted into the sun too often, and deep laugh lines framed his ever present smile. His hair was only slightly graying at the temples, and overall it was a thick rumpled mess of soft brown curls. I thought about how he had once teased me for combing my hair straight in his hallway mirror. Ho, ho, he'd said. There's little time to waste on your hair, lad. Give the girls a smile and that'll be enough to keep 'em coming. True enough advice, as it turned out.

Pull up a chair. Shall I pour you a pint? Arthuro looked up from the table he had been wiping to smile at me, and then his eyes went wide in surprise. He slapped his leg with the wet towel in his hand and crossed the room to thump me hard on the back. Well, bless me! If it isn't little Brett come home at last. I had heard you were in town but goodness, goodness. I believe it's been twenty years, son. It's about time you got around to visiting us again, don't you think? Take a seat. Hey, Charla! he bellowed toward the kitchen. Come out and give us a hand, love. We've got a visitor.

A short redhead came barreling out of the kitchen, and she looked ready to give Arthuro a piece of her mind until her eyes landed on me and she stopped short. Brett! Where've you been? she squealed and came running to hug me. I heard you were here, but gosh.... She stood back shaking her head, her ginger curls bouncing wildly as she looked me up and down. I tried not to do the same, but couldn't help noticing how the girl had grown into a curvy woman while I was away.

Grab us two pints, love, said Arthuro, nudging Charla with an elbow. I'm gonna take a breather here with Brett.

A breather, huh? she teased. As if you ever work hard enough around here for a breather. She laughed and winked at me over her shoulder before he chased her off toward the kitchen.

Grinning, I took the chair he offered and glanced around. The place hasn't changed much, I commented, noticing the same rickety tables and chairs gathered in the center of the ancient pub. Its floors and walls all cut from the same timber, a dark wood brightened only by a small fire in the stone hearth and a few candles that flickered in their places along the walls. Like something out of a medieval movie, I thought to myself. You would never know I had just stepped off the busy streets of modern London.

My eyes roamed toward the back wall where a heavy set of doors hid the true intent of Arthuro's Port. They were tall and made of solid wood, with iron bars on the outside and solid hinges. A giant of a man sat guarding them, his thick arms crossed over his massive chest. As he saw me looking his way, he nodded faintly, and I smiled awkwardly before looking back to my host.

Arthuro acknowledged my scrutiny with a nod of his head and a smile. Aye, it's the same as ever, but it serves us well. He took the chair across from me, settling in with a groan, and I wondered if perhaps Arthuro was older than he looked.

Did I ever tell you how I came to have the place? he asked. When I shook my head he grinned and leaned back in his chair. What an adventure that was, he said, his eyes sparkling as though the memory shimmered behind them.

I was about, oh, I don't know, twenty years old, maybe, and had left home in search of a legend. You see, our elders used to tell of a world beyond our world. A place where two worlds collided, and they'd say you could pass from one to the other. Well, I searched far and wide for that place. I was sure I would find it before the year was out! He chuckled and shook his head.

Charla set down two tall and frosty mugs in front of us. I looked up to smile my silent thanks and was rewarded with a saucy grin and another wink. Arthuro endured all of this, and when Charla had gone, he continued his story as though he had never been interrupted.

"Well, after three long years of searching, I still hadn't found anything. Finally, one night, tired and sick of searching, I reached the top of a thickly wooded ridge overlooking a deep purple valley and saw on the other side only more mountains. 'Three years into this journey and I am no closer than when I started,' I grumbled to myself." He shook his head again and we both took a long swig from our mugs. Arthuro wiped away the foam with the back of his hand and then continued.

I remember clearly the look of it then, the valley with its purple fields and shallow river, its water tinted a greener shade of blue, snaking from the northeast to its disappearance in the southern end between two rocky peaks. He described it all with his hands, making big sweeping gestures so wide I had to duck once or twice as he formed mountains and valleys for me.

Arthuro sighed, I was beginning to doubt the old stories. The world had no end! No exit! There was only endless space. I stood staring at the mountains on the other side of that valley and thought maybe it was time to admit my father was right. I would cross this valley and head north along the opposite ridge. It would take the better part of a year to make my way home, but I could make it before winter. I shuddered to think of how I would be received, mind you. Certainly not as an adventurous hero as I had hoped. He laughed mirthlessly and wiped at an invisible spot on the table between us. I nodded sympathetically, and he shrugged.

I thought maybe I could settle in the Kalides, he said, pointing to a spot on the wall behind me.

I turned to see an old painting that hung just over my shoulder. It was yellowed from years of smoke and dust, but you could still see the image of a quiet fishing village framed by