Shaolin vs Vikings

By Ahimsa Kerp

Lovecraftian stories stand shoulder-to-tentacle with high fantasy, steampunk, horror, Weird, and more in this collection of short stories from Ahimsa Kerp. From a steampunk world where the Burmese Empire still rules most of Asia, to Japanese death dogs, from the real reason no writings of Socrates exist, to an ancient Sumerian sage corrupted by the modern world stalking the fjords of Oslo, from a town full of women eagerly desperate to avoid sacrifice to a Dragon, to a German cat who really just wants to play a DJ set at the local Techno Festival, these stories span the breadth of the speculative fiction field.

Each story includes an original black & white illustration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ahimsa Kerp
• Release date: Oct 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370586370

Ahimsa Kerp

Ahimsa Kerp is the author of EMPIRE OF THE UNDEAD, CTHULHU KAIJU and BENEATH THE MANTLE from Severed Press and co-author of the mosaic fantasy novel THE ROADS TO BALDAIRN MOTTE from Reputation Books, as well as a contributor to many anthologies including CTHULHUROTICA, TALES OF THE TALISMAN and DEAD HARVEST. Ahimsa hails from the Pacific Northwest but has lived on four continents, including various parts of Asia since the Aughts.

Book preview

SHAOLIN VS VIKINGS

and other stories

a speculative collection

by Ahimsa Kerp

Copyright © 2016 Ahimsa Kerp

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 9781370586370

Front and Back Cover Image: © Wind Lothamer

Cover Typography by Leslie Lothamer

Hi everybody! Thank you for downloading this book. You are welcome to share it with your friends, and it may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided it remains in its complete original form. If you enjoy it, please leave a review somewhere. Thanks for your support.

Artists

Thank you to the wonderful artists who contributed to this book.

Nahid Taheri

Gord Sellar

Jihyun Park

Rebecca Isbill Davis

Wind Lothamer

Jeanette Jensen

Julie Visaggi

The Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists first appeared in Fiction Vortex, July 2013. Copyright © 2013 by Ahimsa Kerp.

On the Quest of the Crow King first appeared in Dead Harvest Anthology. Copyright © 2014 by Ahimsa Kerp.

"Ekdíkisi" first appeared in The Eschatology Journal. Copyright © 2011 by Ahimsa Kerp.

A Faint Drumming, A Red Flame, first appeared in Tales of the Talisman. Copyright © 2014 by Ahimsa Kerp.

Turning on, Tuning in, & Dropping Out at The Mountains of Madness first appeared in Cthulhurotica. Copyright © 2010 by Ahimsa Kerp.

The Beginning of All Things first appeared in Origins Anthology. Copyright © 2012 by Ahimsa Kerp.

Table of Contents

FANTASY

The Save Game Scroll

The Virgin and the Dragon

STEAMPUNK

The Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists

The Natural State of Civilized Man

A Faint Drumming, A Red Flame

LOVECRAFTIAN

Die DJs Aus Bremen

Ekdikisi

Song of the Whippoorwill

Turning on, Tuning in, & Dropping out At the Mountains of Madness

Full Service Town

Shaolin vs Vikings aka The Reavers and the Serpent

FLASH

Santa's Turn

A Long Way From Tokyo

Contrived Acumen

NEAR FUTURE SF

Holiday Kinetic

The Speed of Dark

The Beginning of All Things

HORROR

Mr. Potato Head

Antediluvian

On the Quest of the Crow King

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FANTASY

The Save Game Scroll

Art: Nahid Taheri

Everyone knew that I killed the dragon. True, it was the cold-blue steel of Arax's sword that severed massive head from body. Also true: Omy's hex-fletched arrows half-blinded the thing, giving us all a chance to survive its terrible claws and doom-bringing tail. But it was my magic that stopped its molten fire, that protected us all. Moreover, it took my spells to weaken it, to slam the mighty beast to the ground and puncture its organs. Given time, I would have ended the beast's life myself. It was already dying. But Arax was a grandiose fool, and he leaped onto the beast’s writhing neck. His spell-enhanced strength (You're welcome, Arax!) and cold-forged blade were mighty enough to severe scale, sinew, muscle and flesh.

The dragon was dead. It was a moment of relief, of joy. The five of us looked at each other, laughing or sighing as we saw fit. I jumped down from my perch and joined those who had fought in melee range of the beast. All the magic had taken the best part of my resources, and I would have to wait some time for my fingernails to grow back.

Naturally, I want the treasure, I said. There were gems and coins aplenty, of course. Enough to keep us in ale and food and sex for a year, if we weren't too particular about the ale we drank, or the special relations we courted.

Ha, Arax said. His muscles quivered as he spoke; his enhanced strength was departing. He remained tremendously strong. My kill, my treasure.

Feck you, barbarian, I said, looking to our companions for support. I had already exploded his heart, melted his lungs. You didn't need to do anything. I held up the nubs of my fingernails to demonstrate how much power I had used. In the silence, the stench of dead beast and metallic blood was almost too much to bear.

It was moving until he chopped off its head, Omy put in, looking up from were she knelt, collecting her arrows from the dragon's body. Hex-arrows were uniquely expensive, and she sawed at the cooling dragon flesh with her small dagger to retrieve them.

That's what I saw too, Jamuth added, quite unnecessarily. He had done nothing this time, though his healing spells had helped us all in the past.

I looked to our fifth, my final hope. Cyl just shrugged. Bit late now, mate, he said. The pale man had a very specialized skill that rarely came in handy, but he was a great cook and very generous with his money and heatherwater. We were all happy to have him in the gang.

Arax had his freakishly big hands around a gnarled wooden chest. Once it had been painted but now it was all but unrecognizable from dust and age. The big man grinned victoriously. Ha!

Scodding hell, I sighed. Every time this happens to me. I'd like to see what you all would do without a spellcrafter. Maybe I should go out on my own, leave you all to fend for yourselves.

No one said anything; I had threatened to leave many times before. Too many times, perhaps. They were all watching Arax.

I could spell the chest open, Omy could pick the lock, Cyl could get inside as many ways as he could think of. Arax, of course, smashed it open with his gauntleted hands. It took him six great crunching strikes until the wood gave way. I winced every time his flesh slammed into the container; thinking of valuable elixir held in delicate crystal, of whispery shadowgold, of shattered feathergems.

What the scod is this? Arax yelled. He stomped over piles of gold toward me. He's going to hit me, I thought, and, bit the last stub of my yellow thumbnail to release a defensive spell.

Maybe he saw my hand twitch, or maybe he never was going to hit me. But Arax stopped, and threw the chest at me. Not to me. At me. At me.

The air sizzled as my hastily erected shield stopped it. I reached out and caught the chest as it fell. It was far too light. Empty? I lifted the lid and looked inside.

Not empty, but I understood Arax's anger. The treasure he'd so forcefully claimed was useless to him. And perfect for me.

What is it? Cyl asked, as the others gathered around me. Arax was piling treasure into a heavy cloth sack.

A scroll, naturally. I said. I do not know the alphabet, cannot read the language. This troubled me. Magic had sharpened my wits; I speak a dozen languages reasonably well and know all the major languages of the world. There was an easy solution, but before I could explain the rabble interrupted me.

A tongue of the dragons? Jamuth asked. His piggish eyes gleamed with interest.

A forgotten language? Omy ventured, the last of her arrows retrieved.

A scodding piece of scod, Cyl said. He turned on Jamuth. Your raids always fail, mate. I grow tired—

Stop! I said, ripping out some of my hair and used a flame glamour to burn it. I didn't only have to use my nails to create magic. The only thing worse than Jamuth's raids is your moaning. I swear, I'm leaving the group if this continues." The hair burnt to nothing and I stared at the now comprehensible letters.

A long pause.

What does it say? Omy asked.

Still, I hesitated.

Feck, man. Elucidate us, Cyl said.

It says 'Save Game Slot 1 of 3, I said, hesitantly. What could that mean?

Light shimmers through the cave as I speak and I am assailed by an overwhelmingly strong sense of deja vu. The others feel it too. Even Arax pauses, his loot bag half full.

What just happened? Jamuth asked.

I feel so strange, Omy said.

Screaming filled my head and my eyes shut against the pain. I had no answer for them, and so I did not speak.

Get the feck out of here! Cyl said. For once, we all in agreement. We were all glad to follow him out of that dank mountain cave. But only after we each filled up our treasure bags. Naturally.

§

We were all staying in Forestend, a resort town featuring day walks, thermal springs and, until recently, a dragon. Jamuth came to us with his new plan, some weeks later. I was reluctant; we had already vetoed one suggestion of his that involved joining a garrison in a besieged city to the south. That was desperate work, and we were not desperate people

We only work when we need the money, Jamuth, I reminded him.

And we don't need any money now, Cyl said, sipping from his heatherwater.

Arax put it more eloquently. Feck off.

Listen, this mission can secure our futures. Not just a year, or two, or five, but for the rest of our lives. His piggy eyes were as open as they'd ever been, and his jowls shook with earnestness. And the best part is it's easy. Far easier than killing that dragon, or the froggers. Even easier than the woodboars.

It sounds too good to be true, Omy said. She sat fletching more of her black and green arrows; a pile of wood carvings and feather fragments grew at her feet. When she had a pile of fifty or seventy of them, she would leave for a week or two. When she returned, her arrows would have the most powerful hexes upon them; strong enough to penetrate a dragon's defences. Whoever did her hexing was as powerful as they were secretive, and she would not share their identity. Omy went through gold faster than any of us.

Jamuth was used to this pestering and he paid us little heed. The Molemen have a—

The scodding Molemen? I interrupted.

They don't have anything worth stealing, Cyl said.

Feck. Off, Arax said, slowly and deliberately.

They have a great treasure. Of the Deep. How they stumbled onto it, no fecker knows. But they have it, that's a fact, Jamuth said.

Just how great is great? Omy asked. The pile of completed arrows grew before her.

I think we're a little above fighting Molemen, I added. They weren't even threatening when I was starting out, and naturally I only knew a small portion of the mystical knowledge I know now.

You're not listening. They will only have the treasure for three more days, and then it will descend back into the deep, Jamuth said, all in one breath.

I hate time crunches, Cyl said.

Not interested, I added.

Before Arax could add his predictable sentiment, Jamuth added one more sentence. It was what he should have led with, were he not a complete fool.

The treasure of the Deep. They have a Rainstone. I swear it by the almighty Basely.

§

We left less than two hours later. Perhaps none of us believed him, fully, but the chance to acquire one of the seven stones was far too tempting. The stones had been lost for longer than memory, but the stories of the Scorchstone Lord were still told to scare children. The Rainstone would give its possessor the power over all things wet and liquid. Only one of us could possess it, but per our usual rules the one who slew the beast (or in this case, the most beasts) would have the claim to it.

Each of our comrades had their own skills, but for mass death no one could match a spellcrafter. The Rainstone would be mine. They must have known this. After the fight, perhaps Arax or Cyl would attack me, but I had contingencies for them too.

We arrived in silence at the grassy field, each of lost in thought about how to obtain the stone.

I like dragon caves better, Omy said. Though they involved the scaling of mountains, digging ice caves for shelter at night and oft suffering from gale-strength winds, the caves were often wondrous. Glacial caverns glittering with diamond-like ice and sometimes with actually diamonds too. You know that kind. Molemen caves, contrarily, were slimy, muddy, and cramped. We would have to worm our way through miles of their tunnels, hoping not to get trapped, before descending to their strange subterranean chambers.

We had not searched long before Omy found the entrance. I won't bother describing the long, muddy descent we suffered through. Half-a-dozen times the tunnels grew too narrow, particularly for fat Jamuth and the muscled Arax, but always my spells got us through. My spells. Always my spells.

We were all of us filthy. I had soil everywhere; my nostrils were filled with dark loam and sandy grit piled between my teeth. We couldn't speak, of course, and I know all of us continued to plot how to gain the Rainstone. Cyl had the best claim to it based on his strange powers. Jamuth had learned of it from his petty godling; he had a strong hold as well. Omy was perhaps the person best suited for sheer power; the one I trusted the most. Arax would kill us, smash us all into unrecognizable bits, for it. But it was me, the under-appreciated spellcrafter, who would end up with the Rainstone.

If it was really there. If not, we had gone through a lot of trouble for nothing. Jamuth would probably not survive our wroth should the treasure be less than satisfactory; divine Basely or not.

We crawled deeper into the ground, until at last we reached a cavernous hall. I had led most of the way, but Cyl was our best scout and he skimmed past me. He looked for what felt like ages. I was too aware of the filth I burrowed in, of the crawling worms and beetles that trudged across my skin, to think of anything else but the warm bath I would take when this was over.

Cyl hissed in alarm and dropped from his perch.

Are the molemen there? I asked, crawling ahead to see the cavern better.

"Be quiet," Cyl commanded. His normally pale skin was much more pallid than usual. He pressed himself down deeper into earth. I followed his glance. There were molemen aplenty, more than I had ever seen before. An army of them, neatly arranged in battalions. But I had no doubt that we could kill them all. I could do it myself, naturally. But then I saw what he saw, knew what he meant.

My blood went cold. My plans withered and died. My dreams collapsed. My bladder emptied. Of all the scodding, fecking. I hissed, driving myself deeper into the ground. Behind the molemen, at the back of the cave, strode Sideways Emily.

Get back, Cyl hissed to us. Retreat.

Feck off, Arax said, rising to his knees. We didn't belly through mud and worms and filth for five hours just to—oh feck. He had seen it, but far too late. For now it had seen us.

It saw us. Sideways Emily, the shadowy, nebulous badger-creature that ruled the deep caverns of the earth, and the disembodied head it carried—a godling, a denizen of the deep, another Emily, or maybe just part of the eldritch creature. The eyes on the head opened wide and its mouth opened in a croon of anticipation. Sideways Emily did nothing save poke her long snout toward us; but the molemen all turned, in eerie silence, and stared at us. Her black and white stripes shone with darkness.

We were already dead. Omy slipped past us and loped up the tunnel on hands and legs. Her bow was forgotten and arrows spilled from her quiver. She did not stop to collect them, and that fact scared me nearly as much as anything else. Turning around, Arax pushed at Jamuth, who was in the rear. Get the feck out, fatman. It was as panicked as I'd ever seen him; but my own fear was soaring on wings of apprehension and terror and I noted it only briefly.

Jamuth stared in incomprehension. Don't tell me there are too many, he said. "They're molemen!" That was the last thing I heard him say as we rushed past him, our bodies slipping and sliding in the mud.

I enhanced my muscles, my night vision, and change my hands into claws. It took an enormous amount of power: they were not the magic I had prepared to use. I cared not—there was only one chance I could survive, and that was if I separated from the others.

Jamuth, I knew, no longer walked in this realm or any other. And then I heard Omy scream, from ahead of me, a long wail of pain and terror. There was no time left to lose. Biting at my bleeding red and purple pinkie nails, I created a side cave and dug with my new claws. I tore through the earth frantically and quickly, within seconds, left the large tunnel.

I cast a spell to erase any sign of my passage. I stilled the beating of my heart, erased my scent, vaporized my body heat, and cleared my mind of thoughts. I did not know how Sideways Emily hunted, but I left nothing to chance. This tunnel led straight up, and high above me I could see a nimbus of light. With my clawed hands, it was easy to scamper up.

I reached the top and though my eyes shied from the bright light, I breathed a long sigh of relief. And then, as my eyes adjusted, I pissed myself again.

Sideways Emily, clutching her horribly shrunken, sentient head, stood before me. Her shadow covered me, coating me in withered darkness. I cast nine spells at once, but they were not enough, not nearly enough. She reached out with one withered claw and I fell, dead before I hit the ground.

§

A long pause.

What does it say? Omy asked. We were in the dragon cave. I held a scroll in my hand. I knew what I must say, and still, I hesitated.

Feck, man. Elucidate us, Cyl said.

It says 'Save Game Slot 2 of 3, I said, hesitantly. What could that mean?

Light shimmers through the cave as I speak and I am assailed by an overwhelmingly strong sense of deja vu. The others feel it too. Even Arax pauses, his loot bag half full.

What just happened? Jamuth asked.

I feel so strange, Omy said. She looked at her body and seemed surprised at something.

Screaming filled my head and my eyes shut against the pain. I have some idea now, but only rudimentary guesswork, and I did not speak. I too checked my body and there were no wounds.

Cyl looked around us, as if just now noticing our location. The dragon's body was still warm, its blood poured in steaming cascades onto the dark cave floor. We all looked around us, and then at each other.

None of us wanted to say it. Cyl licked his lips and asked: Does anybody else remember Side-

Don't say it! Don't say her name, I warned, though I did not think she could reach us here. My magic was nothing to her., and her darkness swallowed me.

She ripped me open, Arax said, his voice numb. From my arsehole to my brain. I watched her do it.

The pain, Omy said. She had her hands clasped around her knees and rocked slowly back and forth.

I turned into a cloud, Cyl said, his voice swimming with disbelief. A scodding cloud, and she reached up and ripped my heart out.

Jamuth said nothing, and he would not meet any of our eyes.

This cave. It's too close to her. I keep seeing shadows. I can't help but feel that she's watching us, I said.

Get the feck out of here! Cyl said. For once, we all in agreement. We were all glad to follow him out of that dank mountain cave. We did not stop for treasure, nor for anything under the sun or sea.

§

We were all poor and growing desperate. None of us could face the dark, or even deep shadows. The town of Forestend was too expensive, and now that the dragon was gone prices were rising everywhere. I hadn't had a drink of heatherwater since our first night back, which was doubly harsh as we were staying at the inn with the finest drinks in town.

We need coins, Jamuth, I said, as we had all gathered for dinner three weeks later. Not from that dragon cave, naturally. Not from any cave. But we need it.

And we need it now, Cyl said, slamming his hand on the oak table.

Arax, as always, put it most eloquently. I'm fecking hungry.

The priest still wouldn't meet our eyes. We were all frightened, but he was dangerously despondent. I would have stepped in to cheer him up, if I liked him at all. At last he looked up, nervously meeting my eyes.

Listen, I didn't tell you all what happened. When she, you know. I am a priest of Basely. I serve him, and in return he grants me powers. Powers of healing. Powers of augury. Some priests, the highest and eldest, can summon him. I had never dared try, of course.

Naturally, I put in.

"But when you all left me, pushed me into the mud. I looked up and she was there. Without thinking, I prayed to Basely, and he was there. In an instant,