Beginnings

By Jamie Aldis

Fantastic stories of love, loss, and survival in this collection of ten short stories, plus the novella Band of Lyra introducing the swash buckling adventure team in a classic sword and sorcery tale. Along with brand new stories, this volume also includes stories of  familiar characters returning in new adventures. In a wide variety of genres the stories in this book break hearts, and raise laughter, excite and enchant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valsaga Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386164036

Book preview

Beginnings

Beginnings

A Short Story Collection

Jamie Aldis

Valsaga Publishing LLC

For Dean and Kris, who never fail to inspire me.

Contents

Preface

The Lighthouse

The Family Business

The Ghosts of Hanley Hall

Raven Tree

Snow

Raven Tree

The Warm Sunrise on a Green House

The Love Specialist

Alaska Hope

Glacier

Shadow of the Unicorn

The Band of Lyra

The Sacred Flame

Into the Gap

Thin as a Whistle Blow

About the Author

Also by Jamie Aldis

Preface

Welcome to Beginnings: A Collection of Short Stories. I write a lot of short stories, and periodically they need to be rounded up and collected. Some of them like to wander off and I certainly don’t want them to get neglected in forgotten dusty corners.

In this volume you’ll find some recurring characters like Keiko, the young witch who wants to be an FBI agent, returning in The Family Business. Emma investigates with her team of ghost hunting friends in The Ghosts of Hanley Hall.

The Band of Lyra, a three-part novella, introduces four adventurers in a classic swashbuckling sword and sorcery tale.

Meet Axe and Flower in a desperate battle for survival in prehistoric times in the two Raven Tree stories included in this collection.

Other stories explore love, loss, or survival in a range of genres.

I want to give thanks to my Patreon supporters, you are deeply appreciated.

I want to give a special thanks to my family and friends for all the support and for reading everything.

And thank you, dear reader, who has picked up this volume today.

Enjoy!

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Jamie Aldis

January 2018

The Lighthouse

ICE GLISTENED on every surface, glazing the entire world. The horses hooves cracked the ice that crusted the puddles in the rutted dirt road that wound up the jutting rocky outcrop. John Higgins bounced hard on the wooden seat of the wagon, his hands frozen on the reins despite the new warm woolen mittens his lovely wife Betsy had knitted for him this year .

His apprentice, Matthew Wesley, a young lad barely old enough to shave a whisker or two, was shivering next to him, blowing on his blue tinged hands. The lad was the youngest of eight, so he never got new mittens. Maybe he’d drop a word to Betsy about that. She was a might quick with her knitting needles. The lad’s teeth might crack, if he chattered like that all winter. November was still young and there was a lot of winter to be making deliveries to this cold peninsula of rock.

The sky was a sharp crystal blue, the sun glowing yellow with a cheerful warmth that failed to penetrate the air. In the distance the white pillar of the lighthouse glistened like an icicle jutting up from the black rocks. It was the only thing around for miles, on this lonely forsaken land.

But that lighthouse was a lifesaver. Just last week Betsy was telling him about the harrowing voyage her cousin had coming into Boston harbor. He remembered that storm. He and Betsy had wrapped themselves in blankets, and kept the fire going all night long. Blinding snows and a howling southeaster had shredded the bay. They’d woken up the next day to clear skies and the whole land shrouded in ice sheets that still hadn’t thawed a week later.

Betsy’s cousin said their ship, 38 days out from Liverpool, had barely survived the heavy seas in the Massachusetts bay. But just at the last minute the light house shown like an angel from the heavens, she’d told Betsy, saving them from crashing into the rocks like that ship a few months before.

Wreckage from that had washed up for weeks. Not something John cared to remember. He was none too keen on sailing, that’s for sure. He’d stick to his wagon, delivering in clear weather. He could even put up with the cold, especially in his nice new grey mittens.

Ironically, it was barrels of oil he was delivering to that lighthouse of salvation, out here where there was nothing but rocks and the ocean on one side, and the bay on the other. Just last month he’d delivered the fancy new equipment to the lighthouse. Before that he’d delivered tallow candles. Now he delivered barrels of oil.

He wasn’t sure he thought this new oil lantern lighthouse was such a great idea, but if it had saved his wife’s cousin and their whole ship last week, instead of sending them into the rocks like the ship a few months before, well, maybe there was something to it.

He’d be sure to ask Henry Parrish, the lighthouse keeper, how he was liking the new oil, over the candles. Probably saved him a few climbs up them cold stairs, at the very least.

He pulled up to the small keeper’s house, frowning at the long icicles that hung from the sloped roof over the door. Careful not to slide on the ice sheeting the ground, like poor Matthew whose arms windmilled frantically to keep him upright. Looked like the lad might need decent boots, too.

John wondered why the ice didn’t even look trod on anywhere in the yard. He was starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

No answer to his knock.

Henry had known he was delivering this week. He was always eager for a visit. Sitting out here all alone was no good for a man, and Henry had always had a pot of coffee on to keep a visitor lingering over a hot cup. There wasn’t even smoke coming from the chimney, yet the horses breath, and his own, plumed in the frigid air.

Henry?! John shouted, startling young Matthew so badly he lost his precarious footing and landed on his hinny. John would have laughed if he wasn’t worried about Henry, so he just gave the lad a hand up, and helped steady him on his feet. We better check around. He headed for the lighthouse door, which looked iced shut.

A sense of foreboding gripped him as he and Matthew scraped the ice off the wooden frame door until they could shove it open.

The stairs were treacherous with ice as they circled up. John gripped the railing, giving a harsh word for Matthew to do the same. A good slip could send a man tumbling the entire distance down.

They found the body of Henry Parrish at the top of the lighthouse. He was frozen solid, his leg was at an odd angle, and John thought the ice slick under him might be frozen blood. One sight of the man’s grey-blue skin had Matthew heaving in the corner. Poor lad. Might be his first corpse. You never really forgot the first one.

Henry’s hand still gripped the valve that turned on the flow of oil into the lantern itself. An empty bucket which smelled of oil lay near the door to the reservoir he had helped Henry haul up these same stairs less than a month ago.

Henry Parrish caressed the smooth white painted wood of the upper level of the light house as he looked over the choppy white caps of the Atlantic ocean. Seagulls cawed and dove for their supper in the thin golden light of the setting sun.

They were his most frequent visitor out here and he had named a few he noticed around the most. Sometimes he wondered if he was getting mad as a hatter with how often he talked to the birds, and to the lighthouse herself.

She was a beauty. Glorious and white, she gleamed like a gem on the tip of the necklace that was the bay. She was a diamond. His proudest day had been when he was chosen to keep her.

He had spent all summer white washing her gleaming sides. She’d had to be rebuilt after the war for independence a few years back, but she was still the first and best lighthouse on this side of the Atlantic. They had plans to build her sister on the other side of the mouth of the bay. That would be grand. Two glittering jewels to crown the necklace. But he still had wanted to be in charge of the first lighthouse, even if it might have been fun to build the new one on the other side.

But then he would not have been able to help get the new oil lantern system put in. He was thrilled. Those tallow candles of the old system loved to burn out no matter how well he thought the wind should not get into them. Plus that reservoir of oil that his friend John, the delivery guy, had helped him carry up the stairs would save him so many trips. That thing would hold enough oil for the light to burn a whole week, if need be.

In the good weather months, next summer, he might even be able to get away a day or two at a time and pay court to that lovely lass Miss Winifred who had said to him that she thought lighthouses were amazing and beautiful.

The keeper’s house was built for a family, and he was of a mind that Miss Winifred would be a delightful companion. She even cooked a fine bread.

He turned away from the view, and checked on the trio of tallow candles that burned. He had it set up perfectly so each was a different length. It meant he had to come up here and replace them more often, but there could only ever be one that burned out on him. Ships relied on him to guide them to the harbor, and keep them safe from the rocks that lined this side of the bay entrance.

He smiled at the gleaming new mirrors and fancy oil system that was ready to replace the candles. He’d been instructed to wait until he had another delivery of oil barrels before he changed over to the new system. The ship from Liverpool that was carrying his supply of oil was a few days late. They might very well sail in tonight.

Then John would deliver the barrels and that was always a good conversation, hearing about the newlywed’s delight in his bride, and the mis-adventures of his young awkward apprentice. The two men spent hours over coffee and whiskey, laughing.

Laughter. That’s what he missed the most, with no one around. Sometimes he thought the seagulls were people laughing on the rocks, and he’d run out to join them, but they always flew away.

Miss Winifred laughed easily and smiled often. Yes, as soon as he could he would ride over there and pay her his respects.

He had enough oil to run the lantern for a week. He thought about defying his orders and starting it up now, then he could be at Miss Winifred’s family’s in just a couple hours. They might even invite him to supper. Would anyone even really know he had lit the oil early? It’s not like he didn’t still have enough candles to burn if he ran out of oil before the new delivery from Liverpool arrived.

That ship was still due, and from the hunger of the seagulls and the peaks on the white caps of the dancing waves, there might be a storm kicking up tonight. Maybe it was better to wait until the delivery arrived after all, then he could visit the lovely Miss Winifred and her delicious bread and warming smile without any concerns.

With the sun going down, the air was getting cold fast. Seemed like winter was rolling in fast tonight. He closed the lantern on the large tallow candles, and headed down the stairs to cook his supper in the keeper’s house. He wondered how nice it would be to have Miss Winifred’s smile, and a warm meal all ready for him.

Maybe he would pen a note to her, complimenting how delicious her bread had been the last time he’d seen her. He had no way to send it to her until John brought his supplies next week, but writing it would still bring her smile into the room, even if only in his thoughts while he wrote to her.

A few hours later he laid the goose quill down on the small writing desk and capped the precious ink. Only two mistakes in the entire letter, he was getting better. He rubbed at the ink spots on his fingers from having to trim the feather once or twice during his writing. He might order a metal nib to put in his quills. It would also make his notations in his lighthouse keeper’s journal easier to write. He’d have to remember to ask John to order one for him.

He rolled the ink blotter over the words then folded up the paper. A blob of red wax and Miss Winifred’s name on the other side, and the letter was ready whenever someone came around again to help him mail it.

He picked up the quill again. The fire sputtered in the hearth, and the wind was picking up quite a howl. He peeked out his window and saw darkness from the lighthouse. He quickly jotted in the journal, Inclement weather.

He threw on his cloak, grabbed the hooded lantern, and headed into the storm pressed darkness, his boots crunching in the sleeting, icy rain. This was likely to coat everything in ice, by the morning.

The damp air in the dark lighthouse made the stairs slick and icy. He gripped the railing and ran up the stairs two at time, the tiny glow of yellow light from his lantern barely lighting his way, he was striding so fast.

He found what he expected, the wind had ripped open the candle lanterns and extinguished their flames. It was only a strong southeast wind that would do that. He relit them from his hooded lantern, but no sooner had he reached the third stair down when the wind caught the cover again and blew out the lights.

As he lit them again, he heard it, faintly in the distance, the sound of a bell. A ship!

He ran to his own bell and rang it hard. He was here. He had to get the lights to stay on or that ship would go down on those rocks out there, like so many others had when he could not keep those candles lit. He had spent more than one night up here, lighting them over and over again.

He lit the candles again, then noticed the beam of his hooded lantern shine against the oil reservoir.

Yes! That was a much more secure lantern, proof against the storm’s wind.

He twisted the valve and held the candle to light the flame.

Nothing happened.

The ship’s bell rang again.

Henry cussed, glad Miss Winifred could not hear him. He never wanted to see her frown. He pushed her from his thoughts and rang the lighthouse bell again.

He needed some oil to prime the pump on the lantern. He hadn’t planned to light it yet, so he hadn’t done that.

He ran down the stairs as fast as he could, and his foot slipped right out from under him on the icy stairs. His lantern went flying, clattering down into the sudden darkness. His leg crunched under him, and he screamed as the bone of his shin snapped on impact. His foot was wedged between the stairs, which saved him from rolling down the stairs like the lantern.

He heard the desperate bell of the ship in the distance, barely audible against the screaming wind and the pounding of the ocean surf on the rocks.

He had to get the flames lit. He could not stand it if more bodies washed up on his shores because he could not light the flames in a storm.

He hauled himself, gripping the railing on the stairs, and tried not to scream at the pain as he limped his way down to the oil barrel.

He filled a bucket, gritted his teeth, and climbed the stairs back to the top. All he thought