Mothers Last Child

By A.G. Carpenter

Zed has spent years looking for the means to resurrect the Mothers lost bio-tech and save her world. The discovery of a girl sleeping in the depths of an ancient temple brings new hope of saving her planet from the encroaching desert. Can she convince the last Mothers Child to help her save their home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.G. Carpenter
• Release date: Jul 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546964049

A.G. Carpenter

A.G. Carpenter writes fiction of (and for) all sorts. Her short stories have appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Abyss & Apex, and Nature Magazine - Futures. She prefers Die Hard to When Harry Met Sally and The Good, The Bad and The Ugly over Animal House. Her favorite color is black. Repped by Bob Mecoy.

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CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing can be a lonely thing—sitting with a notebook in hand or laptop resting on your knees and trying to get the story in your heart out into the world.

But we are not alone.

To all the family and friends who have encouraged me, to the other authors who have taken time out of their own busy lives to offer words of advice and support, you have my undying gratitude.

Chapter One

The sun was just beginning to settle behind the rock spur as Zed climbed down from the crawler with the last of her gear. Her guides, a pair of brown skinned brothers and their not-as-brown apprentice, watched and snickered as she worked her arms into the upper half of her coveralls.

They wore the loose trousers and layered tunics common to the desert people—each garment made of a cotton woven so light it couldn’t hide the black line of a tattoo or the dark circle of a nipple. They wore them three or four at a time, shielding their bodies from the gaze of the sun while allowing the air to move freely.

But the men were not descending into the temple hidden beneath the rock spur. They did not have to worry about poison traps or acid dust that would eat through to a man’s bones all the more quickly if he tried to wash it away.

Zed rubbed the pock marks on the back of her hand ruefully, then buckled the cuffs on her sleeves tight.

Faed, the older of the two brothers, stood up and sauntered closer. Hoi, granmedda. The stories about the dark within the mountain having teeth are not true, yes? He grinned and pulled at his beard to show he was joking, but there was a fearful glint in his eyes.

She laughed and shrugged. Old places sometimes have stingers. I’d rather not have an fourfang crawl up my sleeve if I can avoid it. 

Ah. He nodded, clearly relieved. Yes. He rubbed his hands together, glanced over his shoulder. You are bringing up treasure, yes?

She knew he meant silver and brass, or stones that were prized only because they were rare. What she sought was more valuable, but maybe not to simple minds such as his. Nonetheless she smiled at him. I hope to find great treasure below.

His lips stretched thin in a predatory grin. Most excellent. He looked back at his companions and nodded. Treasure, brother.

Zed frowned as she buckled the straps at the ankles of her coverall. When she had found Faed and Issa camped near the base of a mountain spur she had been eager for their assistance. The desert was large, and the thorn-like mountain tops—the remnants of a vast range now buried under the shifting sand—were plentiful. She could have searched each one for years and never found what she was after. But when she asked Faed about the cold-breath mountain and the Mothers temple, he had insisted on bringing her to it.

Zed slung her pack over her shoulders, adjusting the straps ‘til the weight balanced against the small of her back. I may be gone for some time. There is some drink here to help pass the hours. She picked up the wineskin and handed it to him.

He bowed, clutching it close as though she had just given him a portion of the great treasure he believed lay underfoot. Thank you, granmedda.

Share it evenly between the three of you.

Faed frowned, then leaned close and conspiritorial. The boy is young. Perhaps my brother and I split it between the two of us?

Zed shook her head. Not that young, Faed. You can spare a cup for him. Besides, finding the cold-breath spur is a cause for celebration for us all.

Ah. He touched his ear to indicate he had heard truth. You are right, granmedda. We shall all drink.

Good. She settled her goggles into place, and picked up her lantern in one hand and the cage of birds in the other. I’ll return when I am ready.

May you walk safely. He bowed, then hurried toward the others, chattering in the fluid tongue the desert-walkers used among themselves, the wineskin held high.

The temperature inside the spur dropped rapidly as Zed descended the stairs that led down into the buried mountain. The