The Firebird and Other Extracts from Strange Matters

By Bret Allen

This book features three complete stories and one poem from Strange Matters, a collection of short fantasy stories by Bret Allen.

About the Firebird:
Ekaterina wants to be taken seriously by the men of her village, so she sets out to hunt the greatest prey of all, the legendary Firebird. On the way she encounters three strangers who give her the gifts she needs- for a price.
This short novella, inspired by Slavic folklore, is a symbolic fable about the importance of choosing wisely and keeping sight of the things that truly matter.

About British Gods:
Two strange figures watch the violence of the London riots unfold and do what they can to help, as only forgotten gods can.
A humble nod to my favourite author, Neil Gaiman. This short story is based on British folklore in the modern-day style of American Gods.

About Thornback:
A poem about the humble hedgehog, seen through my eyes.

About Saturday’s Child:
Henri discovers that his afterlife is going to be even more dangerous than his first life, when he meets a predatory and beautiful stranger.
This very short story is set in the world of ‘Sleepwalkers’, a setting of my own creation. In this case, I give a glimpse of the plight of a newly deceased spirit.

Feel free to read these stories before checking out the full collection- Strange Matters- 20 stories and poems of fantasy, myth and magic!

These stories contain some mature themes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bret Allen
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310003585

Bret Allen

What is there to say? I'm Bret Allen and I'm a writer!I have a blog site at www.bretallen.info where I keep my creative writing, copy writing and musings. I'm a journalism graduate and enjoy writing articles and copy as a freelancer, especially when humour can be used, but my forte is creative writing.My favourite genres are fantasy, scifi and supernatural. There's something fascinating about the comparisons drawn between real life and the fantastic; in a contrary fashion, they can be more profound than those drawn by real-life stories.Most of all, I try to put a new spin on those genres, which in many cases have become stiff, old shambling corpses. Stitch on a smart new head, put a little truth in the heart, run a 500 megawatt current of strangeness through them and suddenly... they live again!I've lived most of my life in Shropshire and Staffordshire. I have a few great friends, a myriad of mates, a large and wonderful family, a fur baby and a long suffering partner.I draw most of my inspiration from Neil Gaiman, Tolkien, Tad Williams, Kim Newman, Terry Pratchett, daydreams, nightmares and the magic of the everyday.

Book preview

The Firebird

…and Other Extracts from Strange Matters

By Bret Allen

www.bretallen.info

~

Cover art by Ryan Salazar Acosta

R.S.A. Artworks Studio

Belligerent Madness font by P.D. Magnus

www.fontmonkey.com

~

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Bret Allen

Table of Contents

Introduction

The Firebird

British Gods

Thornback

Saturday’s Child

More

My special thanks to:

Mum, for all your support and everything else.

Becki, for helping and listening and being patient.

My other family and friends and those somewhere in between, for encouraging me and making life interesting.

Basil Reginald Jones, for all the things that I never thanked you for enough. Rest in peace.

These things are sent to try us.

Introduction

The Firebird, British Gods, Thornback and Saturday’s Child are free samples from the short story collection ‘Strange Matters’, by myself, Bret Allen. I hope you enjoy them!

The Firebird

Ekaterina wants to be taken seriously by the men of her village, so she sets out to hunt the greatest prey of all… the legendary Firebird.

My attempt at a faery-tale. This draws heavily on characters from Russian/Slavic mythology (which I adore). I immensely enjoyed writing this in a traditional storybook tone of voice, with the help of my partner Becki.

British Gods

Two strange figures watch the violence of the London riots unfold and do what they can to help, as only forgotten gods can.

A humble nod to my favourite author, Neil Gaiman. These ageing culture figures deserve a moment in the spotlight, even if it is in their modern-day, half-forgotten forms. The story was inspired by the 2011 London riots and by a strong love of history and mythology (which is as close as I get to patriotism). I used some poetic license with the identities and histories of these figures, but I feel that they remain true.

Thornback

A poem about the humble hedgehog, seen through my eyes.

Saturday’s Child

Henri discovers that his afterlife is going to be even more dangerous than his first life, when he meets a predatory and beautiful stranger.

This story is set in the world of ‘Sleepwalkers’, a setting of my own creation that I love to tell stories in. In this case, I give a glimpse of the plight of a newly deceased spirit, in a city that to me seems as strange and fantastic as any fictional place. There are two other ‘Sleepwalkers’ stories in the full version of this book.

The Firebird

In a small village, which lay in the middle of a great forest, there lived a young woman of nineteen years called Ekaterina.

Ekaterina was strong and hardy, like all of the villagers, for the cold forest made cold people. Despite this likeness, she was considered to be unusual. She often argued with the other villagers because she did not want to behave like the other women did.

I’m tired of washing clothes, she said, throwing down a pile of linen. Make them do their own!

Her mother sighed and shook her head, picking up the undershirts and bedding from the floor of the washhouse.

Katya, replied her mother, do not be so stubborn, child!

Ekaterina frowned at her. She hated washing, she hated sweeping, she hated sewing and she hated cooking.

I’m not going to clean up after men all my life, Mother. I’ll be a great hunter.

What is wrong with cleaning for men? asked her mother. I did so for your father. I raised you. Do you think yourself better than me?

No, Mother, of course not. I just…

You are too proud. After all I have done for you, you only ever speak of hunting, or fighting, or riding. You want to be a man? Very good, step out on your own, like your father did, leaving me here to struggle alone!

Mother, don’t become upset, replied Ekaterina, but it was too late.

Her mother turned her back, furiously scrubbing the linens in a wooden tub.

Ekaterina opened the door, escaping the washhouse and the other women of the village. She would apologise to her mother later. The old woman simply failed to understand how desperately she wanted to prove herself; to do great things, to be bold and free, not just another village wife.

Ekaterina decided that she wanted some ale, despite the early hour. She strode across the muddy ground, almost knocking over a young boy struggling with a bundle of firewood. The village was circular in shape, protected by a wooden palisade wall. Along the southern curve of the wall stood the humble straw houses of the villagers, while along the northern curve stood the washhouse, the granary, the smithy and the alehouse. The village saw few visitors, huddled in the midst of the forest that it was built from, like a giant bird’s nest.

Standing at the centre of the village was a shrine. The shrine was very old, a jutting black rock topped with a figure made of bones. The men would visit the shrine to pray to the god of the hunt before entering the forest. The forest was dark and dangerous but it was also the source of their food and their wood; they lived and died by its ancient will.

Ekaterina arrived at the alehouse in a black mood. She entered into the gloom, feeling the eyes of the men upon her. The landlord gave her a frown.

Ekaterina, have you no chores to be doing? he asked.

He had a big gut and a deep voice. He was the richest man in the village, making his wealth by trading with other settlements. He was also one of the three ruling elders.

I’m not a child who must do chores on command, she replied, laying down a bronze coin. A drink, if you please.

No, you are a grown woman with duties, he chided, though he took the coin and poured a cup of ale anyway. You should have a husband and a child by now.

The last thing I want is a whining creature clinging to my breasts.

I’m sure an infant is not so bothersome-

I was talking about a husband, she replied, taking the ale and turning her back to the landlord.

Ekaterina took a seat in the corner and drank deep. She ignored the stares of the men- who had plenty of chores of their own- and took out an arrowhead to idly scratch at her table. The arrowhead was bronze and she had forged it herself, with the help of her father. He had taught her how to shoot an arrow and throw a spear, along with other skills needed to hunt game. She liked to think that he had intended for her to provide for her mother, knowing that he would have to leave one day... but also suspected that he had just been amusing himself. It did not matter. She