Seasons

By Justyna Kulisa

Seasons is a collection of four character-driven short stories representing a broad range of speculative fiction.

In a faraway corner of the universe, a man who has lost everything finds love where he least expects it. In the modern world, a woman learns to live with her grief after she realises letting it go is impossible. A princess of a kingdom on its way to ruin braves her fear and goes on a quest, knowing its fulfilment means her death. In the wake of her grandparents' death, a woman scratches the surface of an ancient mystery in a world where old gods have never been forgotten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Justyna Kulisa
• Release date: Apr 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9788396128201

Justyna Kulisa

Justyna Kulisa is a writer with 22 years of experience, who—according to her readers—breaks their hearts on a daily basis. She specialises in stories focused on characters rather than the world at large, where nothing is ever black and white, and every choice has its consequences. Her genre of choice is speculative fiction with focus on adult fantasy.A Polish version of Your Heart, a Fire has been featured in the first Polish queer fantasy anthology, Tęczowe i fantastyczne.

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Justyna Kulisa

Seasons

Copyright © 2021 by Justyna Kulisa

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Justyna Kulisa asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

First edition

ISBN: 978-83-961282-0-1

Cover art by Ewa Gawdzińska

Editing by Kaja Piękoś

For you who are reading this.

Thank you.

Contents

Foreword

You and Me, at the End of Our Time

Gradations of Loss

Your Heart, a Fire

It Burns

About the Author

Foreword

Every story has a purpose.

Sometimes, it is to fight. To tell the story of struggle and hardships that are far too important to be left untold. But there are also small stories, tucked into the liminal space between the mundane and the grand, stories that tell the tale of emotions of an individual.

The stories you will read are of that kind.

A man who has lost everything finds love where he least expects it—only to lose it. A woman learns to live with her grief after she realises letting it go is impossible. A princess braves her fear and goes on a quest, knowing its fulfilment means her death. In the wake of her grandparents’ death, a woman scratches the surface of an ancient mystery.

These are small stories, but I believe they are worth telling. And I hope you’ll find them worth reading.

Justyna Kulisa

April 2021

You and Me, at the End of Our Time

Nameless loses himself in the war and walks a changed man out of it.

He loses his name, too; burns it and its every trace from the pages of history until nothing remains. Next, he throws the memories of his life before the war aside. They are a dead weight on his mind, a shadow he would see if he only turned around towards everything he’s lost.

But turn does he not and keeps moving instead. Madness is the alternative, and he’d rather avoid it. There was enough of it during the war. He buried it alongside his people and home.

The god of pestilence, they called him near the end. He who brings ruin.

So he did.

And as he walked alone after everything had been done, there was no one else left alive to call him anything.

* * *

He meets the man in blue on a quiet world in a corner of the universe he’s never been to in a time he’s never visited, either.

Aino! someone shouts in the crowd behind him, but he pays it no mind. Just like he ignores the commotion and would continue to do so if not for the arm.

One arm, to be precise. Wrapped around him with all the familiarity he never knew. Or might have known, once, a long time ago; so long that it’s already been ages since he forgot what it felt like.

Warmth is a tricky thing in space. It’s never there when he needs it. Now, here, when he’s experiencing it for the first time since well before the war, since before he burnt a world and trampled over its ashes, he doesn’t know how to react. And so, he tenses.

So does the man in blue.

Ah, he says behind Nameless and lets go of him as if Nameless’ body suddenly became scorching to the touch. It’s you. Or… not you. I hoped… I mean, my apologies.

The stranger’s looks and attire make it obvious he’s not from this planet. He’s a bright speck in a sea of beige who wears his self-assurance out in the open in stark contrast to the quiet humility and contemplation that’s seemingly so prevalent in this society. An eyepatch conceals his left eye, and his left sleeve is bundled up, empty.

Nameless has never seen him before in his life. And what a long life it has been. Longer than he ever expected it to be.

He thought it would end with the war. He’s not sure what he thinks of the fact that it didn’t.

It’s fine, don’t worry about it. He smiles and—is this the kind of person the end of his world has turned him into? Someone who smiles and takes everything in stride? Someone who will meet and befriend a man to an extent befitting this kind of familiarity? Someone with whom he will share the name he had shed but never forgot?

Terror like no other grips his heart. Anything but friends. He can’t take losing friends again.

Still, I should have made sure. The man in blue smiles at Nameless. There’s tenderness in his only eye, and fondness, and something Nameless can’t decipher. Are you all right? You seem… rattled.

That’s one way to put it. He has bathed in the blood of his kin and only he can see it stain his hands. If the man in blue could, he wouldn’t be so nice to him. I am, I really am, Nameless lies through his teeth and pretends he doesn’t notice how the stranger raises his brow. It’s… a brand new world. New opportunities, new life. The universe is ahead, right?

Ah, so that’s when. Is that pity? Nameless could never tell with humans. If you need anything—

I don’t, don’t trouble yourself.

Aino…

Can he stop looking at Nameless like this? This softness and kindness and an emotion too big to name—Nameless doesn’t deserve any of them. I better be going, he speaks over the roar of blood in his ears. Take care of yourself… ah?

Hanno. You can call me Hanno. It’s a sad smile this time, one that pulls on Nameless’ heartstrings for reasons unknown. You take care of yourself too, all right?

It won’t matter if he does, nor if he doesn’t. But he still says, Sure, sure, I will! I’ll… be seeing you around, I guess?

Hanno huffs a laugh. It sounds dangerously close to a sob. Yes. Yes, you will.

Nameless has got an entirety of time at his disposal, but he doesn’t waste a moment to turn on his heel and walk away from Hanno at a pace that borders on running.

Aino!

He shouldn’t stop, but there’s something in Hanno’s voice that commands obedience and not even Nameless can ignore it.

That’s another curious thing to learn about him after the war.

Don’t blame yourself, Hanno shouts over the crowd. It wasn’t your fault.

And this is when Nameless learns that he can still cry.

* * *

Time carries a name across its tides.

Hann Varnell, people whisper in awe. The closest a human could get to a god of old. He who searches the stars for a treasure, his beloved, the heart he’s given up in the past—there are as many guesses as there are people. That, more than anything. catches Nameless’ attention. Notoriety is a difficult thing to achieve in a universe as vast as this. Even more so when it spans across time, too.

At some point, Nameless knew all the people who ever threaded the winding paths of time like one would an ordinary trail. But this name he’s never heard before.

Loss has made him a curious man, it seems, because he listens to the echoes scattered over time and space and follows the rumours to a planet bathed in the perpetual dusk of a red giant. It’s crowded, loud, and lively.

Everything his planet was not.

It’s easy to find Hann Varnell. The building he resides in towers over the city, ornate and eye-catching. The crowds are even denser around it than they are on the streets. Nameless throws caution to the wind and enters whatever establishment Varnell has set up here.

It’s red. There’s so much of it: on the walls and the floor, on the ceiling and the staff’s clothes. Everywhere he looks, beings of all races and times sit by countless tables in the company of veiled individuals.

Curiosity gets the better of him. He gravitates towards one of the tables to take a closer look. The veiled person’s fingers are running over a holo keyboard with the speed born of practice. A stream of data is displayed on the table’s surface between them and the patron who’s staring at it with a palpable hunger. Whatever the data is, it must be important.

Nameless steps away before anyone notices him stare.

Sir?

One of the staff persons is leaning slightly down towards him. They’re lanky beings dressed from head to toe in flowing, red robes. Only twin spots of light shining behind their veil point to where their eyes might be.

There’s no reason any of them should talk to Nameless.

I’m sorry, he says and smiles. It’s a good thing, a smile. Not threatening. Am I in the way? I’ll—

You aren’t, sir. Don’t worry. They point towards the other side of the floor, where a few steps lead up only to get cut off by a heavy red curtain. Our master simply invites you for a chat.

There’s something to be said about war. It stays with a person long after it’s ended, looms over their thoughts and life like a shadow impossible to shake off. Nameless has done enough for his shadow to become larger than life itself.

Even though no longer tied to his name, his infamy is legendary. After all, he razed a planet to the ground, tore a hole in the fabric of the universe, and buried it in it. It was the price he paid for the continuous existence of the cosmos.

People don’t know his reasons, though. And thus don’t invite him for a chat.

Why?

Our master knows what you’re looking for. He’s willing to give it to you.

I’m not… But he is, isn’t he? He has come here chasing the alluring phantom of a person he never met because of curiosity he chose not to resist. Ah, very well. Where should I go?

If you’ll follow me, please.

They don’t make a sound as they move. Nameless isn’t sure he sees any movement to begin with—they seem to glide smoothly across the floor while their robes remain unruffled. Everyone’s attention is on them and Nameless as they walk towards the steps and the red curtain hiding whatever is at the top of them from view.

Nameless goes through the curtain alone.

The staircase leads up. Lights dim and the air grows crisp, and when Nameless finally reaches the last step, he walks onto an open platform. The stars are above