Kilgore's Five Stories #8: March 2021: Kilgore's Five Stories, #8

By Shaun Kilgore

Kilgore's Five Stories #8 brings together five fantasy stories set in a variety of secondary worlds as well as the hidden world in our own. You'll get plenty of epic style fantasy and an urban fantasy story to whet your appetite for great speculative fiction. The March 2021 issues features the following stories by author Shaun Kilgore: Winds of Fate, Death to the Messenger, The Oracle of Sadeer, The Prophet's Return, and Chasing Demons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Founders House Publishing LLC
• Release date: Mar 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781386024064

Shaun Kilgore

Shaun Kilgore is the author of various works of fantasy, science fiction, and a number of nonfiction works. His books appear in both print and ebook editions. He has also published numerous short stories and collections. Shaun is the editor of MYTHIC: A Quarterly Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazine. He lives in eastern Illinois.

Book preview

CONTENTS

Introduction

Winds of Fate

Death to the Messenger

The Oracle of Sadeer

The Prophet’s Return

Chasing Demons

About the Author

Copyright Information

Kilgore’s Five Stories

#8 March 2021

Original Short Stories Every Month

Shaun Kilgore

Introduction

As you can tell from previous issues, I spent a lot more time playing in the wide, open spaces of the fantasy and science fiction genres than I do anywhere else in the world of short fiction. Those two are my go-to genres for writing, my home base of operations, so so to speak. So, this issue, #8, is no exception. I’ve included five short fantasy stories. Most are the sort of secondary world fantasy that take place in entirely fictive worlds, but I’ve added an urban fantasy story for a little variety. Welcome, once again, to Kilgore’s Five Stories!

Shaun Kilgore, March 2021

Winds of Fate

THE WINDS RAGED across the cliffs. Tolly strained just to remain attached the narrow ledge, his gloved fingers rooting around for better purchase on the jagged face of the stone. A gust slammed him against it, the sharp edges drawing blood where his head struck. It left him dazed but Tolly’s grip was like iron. One false step and he would be nothing but a messy heap on the stony ground below. The air was cold and damp and left a salty residue on his lips and cheeks. Even so high up, he could hear the crashing of the waves a short distance below. The sea lay beyond this monstrous impediment of limestone.

It was an act of desperation to scale such heights; Tolly knew it the moment he fled the mines. He had no idea if they noticed his absence. His only thought was freedom and the promise that at least he would die on his own terms rather than suffer the beatings and humiliations heaped upon him by Denarth and his underlings.

Tolly doubted than anyone would imagine him foolish enough to try escaping across the cliffs. Others had tried and failed. Just last week Tolly stood gaping up at the cliffs as some wretch plunged to his death trying negotiate treacherous paths. Now, with the wind trying to wrench him loose, Tolly knew the fear old Mallick felt when he fell to the earth.

You’ll not have me, damn you! His cries were swallowed by the malevolent gusts.

The fingers of the wind twisted Tolly’s hair into a tangled mess and put a chill in his bones. The skies were ashen gray and it seemed that he would be pelted by winter rain. He continued to shuffle along. When the winter roared he stopped and waited for them to abate. It was a slow, merciless pace. Tolly knew that if the rains came too soon, the foot-wide lip of the ledge would become too slippery.

He had to make it.

The air was wet with mist and soon Tolly’s filthy clothes were soaked through. He shivered as the wind blew through the damp fabric. He looked ahead and up at the cliff face, trying to gauge the distance either way. A hundred paces? Two hundred? There was no way to be sure and Tolly was having trouble seeing with the water running into his eyes. He started up and just moved, struggling to hold on but still moving even though the winds tried to snatch him more than once. One foot after the other. Tolly gritted his teeth as he scraped a knee against a jagged outcropping. Lightning forked through the clouds overhead and Tolly continued even as thunder rolled deep and ominous.

With the next step his foot met only empty air. Tolly hadn’t seen the gap in the ledge. He lost his grip on the wall and tumbled over. At the last moment, he grabbed the cliff and struggled to pull himself back up. The rain was falling heavier now, though it remained blessedly light. He had little time left. Once he was up, there were little else to do but keep going.

I’ve made it farther than old Mallick, he thought. It was a small victory, but Tolly took it for what it was worth.

More lightning. More thunder. The winds blew and blew, sending ice-cold rain down on Tolly. How long had he been on the cliffs? A few hours? His sense of time was askew. Tolly was exhausted. One step after another. A ceaseless plodding forward with little variation in what he did. The rain had robbed him of sight. He had only the solidness of the rock beneath his touch.

After an unaccountable length on the cliffs, Tolly made it to the top. He collapsed on top of a flat place just beneath an overhang so that he was spared the full brunt of the driving showers.

I made it. I told you I would, he whispered.

Weariness shrouded him. Tolly closed his eyes and was soon asleep. The storm battered the cliffs and likely the encampment below throughout the day and most of the night. He awoke only once when a peal of thunder roared just above him, but drifted off soon after.

When Tolly awoke the skies were clear and cloudless. The stones had been scrubbed clean and there as sweet smell to the air. He pulled himself up out from beneath the sheltering stone and surveyed his surroundings. From atop the cliffs he took in the sight of the lands to the east and saw the thin eddies of smoke from the mining encampment just two miles away. All around him, a landscape of dark, scarred stone ran unrelieved into the distance. Here and there, small stands of stunted trees jutted up from small grassy patches to add splashes of color. Tolly heard the clanging of the pick axes and hammers as men worked in the pits to break stones. Behind him, the waves continued their eternal crashing on the rocky shores of Shavara.

Tolly turned his back on the past and trudged across the uneven surface of the plateau, bypassing huge boulders that stood upright like they had been placed there by giants. He came to the edge of the flat top and gazed out upon the endless sea. His mouth was dry and stomach rumbled with the need for food. The way down was less treacherous on this side and he noticed goat paths crisscrossing up and down the length of the great hill.

No shepherd treaded the paths and there were no signs of goats either. Tolly took to the narrow trails and made his way down much swifter than he climbed the steeper side. The waves were much louder now that he was at the bottom. Tolly squinted in the sunlight. Had he seen something or someone down the beach?

The ground was almost a solid mass of water-smoothed stones. He stood out in the open though it was not the smartest thing to do. There, down the beach perhaps five hundred yards or better, he saw someone leading a pack animal. Tolly started running. Despite his exhaustion, he managed to close the gap between himself and the stranger.

You there! Wait!

The small man jerked and spun around, his motion twisting the reins of the mule so that the animal made an awkward turning motion too. He had a tense look about him as Tolly approach. He hadn’t meant to frighten the man.

Please, please can you spare some water? Perhaps a crust of bread? I’m starving.

The man looked skeptical. Tolly waited for him to speak. The other stared down at his clothes.

Did you come from the mines, then?

Tolly felt his body go cold.

The man nodded. Thought as much. Oh, you needn’t answer. I can tell that by the way you look. The dark smeared remains of the heartstone dust on your clothes are proof enough. You also must not be afraid. I have no intention of harming you. But you must be careful. Denarth won’t be pleased that one of his slaves escaped.

The man went to his saddlebag and drew out something wrapped in cloth. Once pulled away, Tolly saw it was a half a loaf of bread. He handed it to him. The bread was dry but tasted delicious. He had not had much more than scraps of old bread for months. The man handed him a skin bulging with sweet, clean water.

I am grateful to you. I was lucky to find you out here along the shore.

Indeed, lucky, I was passing through at all. I only travel this path once a month.

Tolly thanked the gods for