The Society of Misfit Stories Presents...February 2020

By C.M. Reid, Keith Soares, Joshua Lawson and 3 more

Each issue of The Society of Misfit Stories Presents… is a celebration of long-form fiction. These novelettes and novellas will entertain and surprise fans of the form.

In this issue:

In The Phantom Baker, mysterious newcomers captivate their neighbors with otherworldly culinary skills.

A father seeks to punish the God he holds responsible for his daughter's death in The God Weapon.

While hiking with her mother, a young girl develops an unhealthy fascination with the carcass of a dead deer in The Other View.

In The Last Hero, a hero on a quest to free a god and unite the land becomes saddled with an unwelcome companion: the previous hero's ghost.

Two government inspectors get more than they bargained for when they visit a remote farm in A Notch for a Raven.

In Firelight, the survivor of an apocalyptic event tries to make sense of the loss around him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bards and Sages Publishing
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393905462

Book preview

The God Weapon

By Michael Gardner

WHEN ROKER REALIZED that the blonde entering the dingy bar was Arenath, he reached for his half-full whisky glass with his left hand and the .45 wedged up under the table with his right. The gun was loaded with six cursed bullets that he’d bought from a water demi-god he didn’t trust. But he’d gambled anyway, tossing away his life savings, maybe his life. He’d find out soon enough, he thought.

His booth was at the back of the room, so it took a moment for Arenath to spy him. She grimaced as she took in the near empty bar. It was clearly not the kind of place that Theonos’ High Priestess was used to. Even Roker thought it was a dive. It smelt of stale vomit and booze. The tables were worn, the floor scuffed concrete, but Roker felt at home here. It was a place in which a man could mourn, and plan, and wait. And while the whisky was rough and burned all the way down, it was cheap and did the job.

Arenath began navigating the dirty floor, her heels clicking as she weaved between broken glass and other detritus. Her flowing, golden hair bounced as she stepped carefully, her white dress clinging to her pregnant belly. Two rock demi-gods playing cards halted their game to watch her progress.

Arenath stopped just shy of Roker’s booth, standing erect, looking down on him like he was an insect that she was fighting not to bring her foot down on. Roker slouched into his seat, exaggerating a relaxed, drunken posture, while his finger slipped into the trigger guard of his gun.

Once again, I’m sorry for your loss, Roker, she said. Roker almost believed her. His right eye twinged, a tick pulsing under the lid. He wanted to say so many things, things he’d rehearsed for weeks, but now that Arenath was finally here the words didn’t seem right.

Can I get you something? he asked instead. She frowned, and shook her head no. He shrugged, looking across to the bar. He raised his free hand to signal the bargirl for another.

May I? Arenath asked, gesturing to the bench opposite his. Roker shrugged, and watched her slide across the cracked, maroon vinyl, the seat squeaking as it took her weight.

The bargirl sidled up to the table and placed another whisky on its scratched surface. He upended the last of his original drink and proffered the empty glass to the girl, who took it. Then she left Arenath and Roker to talk.

Despite what you may think, Theonos is also very sorry for your loss. He loved Raina dearly.

Roker chuckled mirthlessly, watching Arenath rub her belly instinctively. He couldn’t imagine the detestable things growing inside of her, but he remembered vividly what had come out of his daughter. He shuddered as he lifted the fresh whisky to his mouth and sipped, swilling the drink before swallowing loudly.

Is that why he sent you instead of offering his condolences in person? he asked.

Loving the gods is both a blessing and a burden. And while we do our best to ensure all vessels are worthy, sometimes things don’t go to plan.

Roker slammed the whisky onto the table with a bang, booze sloshing from the glass.

Don’t, he hissed, his heart thumping in his chest, his neck and cheeks burning hot. He stared at her until she turned away. He sensed her fear, but he knew she’d persist with her message because it was her duty as High Priestess.

Theonos is grateful for Raina’s sacrifice.

Sacrifice? What do you know about sacrifice? Sacrifice means something. It’s for something. This was for nothing. Raina died because that monstrous bastard who demands devotion wanted to fuck my daughter.

Raina volunteered for —

Bullshit, he said, his voice rising. But then he caught himself, took a deep breath. When next he spoke it was softer, controlled. He makes girls do what he wants. He finds perfect, innocent things, and he collects them like trophies.

Arenath continued as if he’d never spoken.

Your daughter made a great sacrifice to the war and while she ultimately bore no children for Theonos, he still wishes to look after you as Raina’s only surviving family —

Roker interrupted her prepared speech by drawing his gun and wrenching the table aside in one motion. He rose to his feet and thrust the barrel towards Arenath’s horrified face knowing Theonos would come, knowing he couldn’t help but respond. Theonos’ pride wouldn’t let Roker kill his emissary.

Time slowed, the dark bar glowed for a fraction of a moment, a golden light, then time sped forward again and Arenath was cast from her chair by an unseen power. She flew across the room before slowing, suddenly, to land softly on her feet well away from Roker’s aim. And where Arenath had previously sat was Theonos, milky white skin surrounded by a golden nimbus, blonde hair hanging to his shoulders, dressed in a white suit, immaculate, like he was immune from the grime of the city.

Roker pulled the trigger. The explosion from the end of his gun was deafening in the confines of the bar. The cursed bullet smashed into Theonos’ face and fell to the ground, a flat circle of metal spinning on the floor until it slowed and stilled. There was not so much as a mark on Theonos’ pretty, boyish face.

Roker swallowed hard, something inside of him shrinking under the fiery gaze of Theonos’ amber eyes. Then Theonos spoke, and even though Roker’s ears were ringing he heard Theonos clearly, aurally and inside his head, like two people speaking at once.

Leave us, Arenath, Theonos said, glancing at her briefly. His voice was sensual and fearsome.

Roker watched Arenath stumble hurriedly from the bar. The two demis nearby didn’t move, frozen in place. The bartender was crouched behind the bar, peeking over it at Roker and the god.

Theonos rose slowly to his feet, and then his hand shot out and grabbed Roker by the throat, forcing him down into his chair. Roker fought and bucked, but it was futile. Theonos squeezed, and Roker couldn’t breathe. He felt dizzy. This is it, Roker thought, a smile twisting his lips, the blood pulsing hard in his temples. He’d failed, but he’d tried. He was ready. But then Theonos released him and Roker slid from his chair to the dirty floor, wheezing and clutching at his aching throat.

The only reason you’re still alive is because of Raina, Theonos said in that double voice, staring down at Roker.

Roker blinked back hot tears.

Go to the Great Below, he rasped.

Theonos’ eyes narrowed.

Careful. My patience goes only so far.

Why didn’t you see what you’d do to her? Roker said.

No being is perfect, least of all the gods. We can’t see everything. If we could, what would be the point of living?

You should have known. And you could have stopped this from happening, but you didn’t. Because you’re selfish.

Theonos glowered at him as if passing sentence, as if making up his mind.

Your blasphemy will go unpunished this one time only. But such insolence will not be forgiven as easily in future.

Roker blinked hard. No, he thought. No. This wasn’t how it went.

Fuck you, he said, but Theonos was already leaving, his golden glow receding, the bar door opened and closed, and then the god was gone. Roker wanted to scream. He wanted to throw himself at something, break something. Instead, he rose to his feet unsteadily, righted the table, and then signalled for another drink. After a moment of hesitation, the bargirl rose from behind the bar and grabbed the bottle.

ROKER STUMBLED OUT of the bar and into the crowded city square. The night air was biting cold, yet throngs of people still buzzed in and out of the bars and restaurants, back and forth across the paving, laughing, talking, a constant thrum of human noise. Holographic images of beautiful men and women beamed down from the tops of the shopfronts, imploring anyone who would listen to drink Rilayd, to perfume themselves with One, to travel to Cohonost. Roker began moving through the crowds and advertisements, like wading through water.

Surrounding the square, residential and commercial towers rose up like glass fingers reaching for the heavens. Many of the windows glowed blue, signs of televisions and AR units in operation. And above it all, Rylus was brewing a storm.

Roker glanced up as the old god grumbled — a deep, steady roll of thunder like a giant cat purring in the clouds. He felt the first icy drops of rain splash against his upturned face. He could taste ozone in the air, feel the tingle of electricity building.

He began moving faster, heading for the tram that would take him out of the city and into the sprawling suburbia he called home — a spreading cancer of cheap, hastily erected housing that all looked alike, that seemed to extend forever, until it didn’t, until it suddenly crashed up against the ocean, or the hills, until it morphed into the southern desert.

Behind Roker, at the far end of the square, was Theonos’ temple. He didn’t look. He didn’t want to see the gravity defying towers, the ornate golden gates, the acolytes and freaks wearing white. He hated it all. Theonos, and everything built in his honour, and all who worshipped him. Right now, he just wanted to be home, where he could do what he had to do.

The sporadic drops of rain became a steady drizzle. Roker’s hair grew damp, and he began shivering, but the rain helped clear his fuzzy head, sobering him. He walked faster, weaving as best he could to avoid the scores of people. A courier on a hover bike startled him as it whizzed by.

At Maron’s bar, the crowds suddenly parted to allow a grotesque demi — large, barked like an ancient redwood — to stumble out onto the street dragging three young men after it. Young men with too much liquor and bravado coursing through their veins.

Roker skirted the edges of the onlookers, and by the time he was halfway around, the fight was done.

Who’s next? the demi roared at the onlookers, who mumbled and began to disperse. Roker tucked his head down and kept walking.

At the end of the square he turned onto Roburn Street — more tall buildings, a minor temple, beggars, drunks, and a waiting tram. Roker jostled aboard and found a seat next to a window, across from an old man who nodded politely, but then turned away from Roker making it clear he didn’t want to talk, which suited Roker fine. Roker stared out of the window as the rain grew heavier, causing little rivulets to run down the glass.

The tram lurched forward suddenly and was soon humming along its magnetic line. As Roker settled into the journey his mind turned to the disappointing events of the evening. He hadn’t expected to succeed, not really, yet the actual failure still hurt like a punch to the guts. He suddenly saw his daughter when she was alive, and then when she wasn’t. He fought back the tears that stabbed at the back of his eyes.

He was so tired. He longed to be home, to close his eyes, to be done with this mess. His hand sought out the comforting bulge of the gun in his jacket, only one bullet missing. Any of the remaining five would be enough to finish the job that Theonos should have done in the bar.

ROKER PUSHED OPEN THE door to his apartment and sensed something waiting in the dark. As his heartrate accelerated, he withdrew his gun and fired. The thing before him expanded rapidly, and buzzed as the bullet passed unimpeded, exploding into the drywall behind it.

Roker switched on the light and saw before him a swarm of silvery, insect-like creatures with whirring wings that glittered like diamonds. It was Grojaan, a lesser god who was both one, and many. He’d dispersed to allow the bullet to pass harmlessly, but now he was re-grouping, forming a humanoid shape that hovered just above the worn carpet, across from Roker’s battered armchair and sideboard.

Roker’s heart was still pounding in his chest, but he lowered his weapon, the acrid and sour smell of spent gunpowder lingering in the air.

Grojaan spoke with a thousand voices in unison, a vibration of sound layered one on top of the other.

Nice way to greet a guest, Roker, he buzzed.

Roker shrugged, apologetic and not.

I thought you might want to talk after your tough night, Grojaan said.

Roker cleared his throat, hesitated.

How did you know?

My spies are everywhere, he answered, by which Roker knew he meant he was everywhere, or at least parts of him were. Roker sighed, resigned to the inevitable. If Grojaan wanted to talk, they’d talk.

Roker stepped into the lounge room and placed his gun on the sideboard next to a bottle of whisky. You want a drink? he asked as he uncorked the bottle.

No.

Roker shrugged, swigged straight from the bottle, swallowed. What do you want then? he asked, licking his lips as the booze burned pleasantly down his throat.

The same as you. Theonos’ annihilation.

Roker laughed humourlessly and then took another draw from his whisky.

Why would you want to destroy your father? Roker slurred.

Following the battle at the end of days, only one of the Ttrinity will remain to rule—either Tiannus, my father, or my mother. I’ve sided with Rylus. She is the most deserving of my devotion, and I believe her rule in the hereafter will be peaceful and benevolent.

A Mama’s boy, huh, Roker said, sneering.

Grojaan ignored him, continued.

As you of all people would appreciate, Theonos has been active on earth fathering a demi-god army.

Roker winced, but kept his silence.

And as his army has grown, so has his boldness. He recently made an incursion back into Otheena, stealing a piece of time and a frozen world for himself.

I thought Rylus and her army were all powerful in heaven? Roker said.

We are. But in this case, we elected only to feign resistance, allowing him to take a small piece of heaven so that we could better spy on him. We’ve since been able to carefully observe his work, and what we’ve seen has worried us. His army is more powerful than we initially thought, and he’s moved almost all of it into Otheena. They are currently preparing fortifications, but we anticipate they will strike at us within the year.

You’ve fucked up by letting him in, haven’t you? You’re not strong enough to kick him out anymore, Roker said, chuckling.

The insects forming Grojaan’s face shifted into a frown.

We have our own plan in play. Theonos sees humans only as tools to birth his army. He doesn’t see you as a threat, or something that may challenge his power.

We are but dirt, crafted with his hands, Roker spoke the old adage absently.

His attitude is a weakness, a blind spot that we have been exploiting. With his army now in Otheena, we will strike where he is vulnerable, here on earth.

Roker rubbed his bruised throat. Theonos hadn’t seemed weak to him. He glanced down into the bottle of amber amnesia, then raised it to his lips again. He swallowed, savouring the flavour of oak and smoke, before placing the bottle back on the sideboard.

And why are you telling me all of this? What could you possibly want from me? he asked.

Insects shifted around the lower part of Grojaan’s face, forming a silvery smile.

One of our human allies is building a weapon for us. But she needs two things, ammunition to wound a god ...

Roker snorted. I can’t help you there.

... and a pilot, Grojaan continued as if Roker had not spoken. You, Roker, I think have the right mind, and the right motivation, to be that pilot.

Roker sighed, then shook his head slowly.

No. I’ve had enough with you gods and your petty bickering and tussles for power. You’re all the same. Why would I care if it’s Theonos, or Rylus, or Tiannus ruling over the wastelands and the corpses of humankind at the end of days? My answer is no. I’m not interested.

Grojaan buzzed, expanding slightly, before condensing again.

You are absolutely right. You shouldn’t care about the coming battle, he said. If the prophesy is correct, you won’t be around to see its end. But I did think you would care about revenge. About killing my father. Don’t tell me it was all an act?

It wasn’t an act. But I tried, I failed, I’m done, Roker retorted.

Grojaan gave a short, sharp laugh.

Ah, I see my error now. What I witnessed tonight was not a desperate man seeking revenge, it was a man desperate to end his own suffering.

Roker slammed his fist into the top of the sideboard, the whisky bottle bouncing onto its side with a clink, alcohol sloshing from the neck out onto the cabinet.

I gave everything to have my shot at him and —

No, you didn’t, Grojaan interrupted, because you’re still here, standing, living, breathing. You have more, so much more, to give. And yet, when I offer you a real chance at revenge, you spurn it. Why? What else have you got planned, besides drinking and staring at your gun wondering when you will become brave enough or drunk enough to swallow the barrel and pull the trigger?

Roker’s head was aflame with anger, and yet he held it back, glaring. Grojaan was taunting him into doing what he wanted and yet, was he wrong? Had Roker really been serious about avenging his daughter? He glanced down guiltily at the gun on the sideboard. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself.

What exactly are you proposing? he said through clenched teeth.

Grojaan hovered closer.

We are proposing to extract your mind from your weak, mortal flesh, and transfer it into something strong, something powerful — a god weapon capable of bringing an end to my father’s reign on earth. A mutually beneficial proposal, wouldn’t you say?

Roker paused, licking his lips, turning Grojaan’s words around in his head.

This machine, you actually believe it can defeat him?

Grojaan sighed.

I do. But that doesn’t mean it will. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that life is full of risks. But just for a moment imagine what I’m offering is genuine. You could fail, you may die, but is that a risk worth taking, Roker?

Roker stood there staring, mulling over what Grojaan had said. Eventually, he sighed, nodded.

Ok.

Grojaan smiled, and then was holding out a hand, a scrap