Aurealis #141

By Michael Pryor (Editor)

Aurealis #141, our June issue, features the enigmatic and evocative Holes, Mountains, Ravens by A. Marie Carter, the unsettling The Void by Benjamin Keyworth and the stylishly horrific It Will Have Its Way by Andrew Knighton. Don’t forget our extensive Reviews section, where you’ll get pointers towards some great Spec Fic reading, and our analytical and entertaining non-fiction from Amy Laurens on Unicorns, Eugen Bacon on Slipstream Fiction and Ani White dissects the popular Xbox fantasy game Tell Me Why. Did we mention our outstanding internal art, which is atmospheric, haunting and classy as always?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chimaera Publications
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922471062

Book preview

AUREALIS #141

Edited by Michael Pryor

Published by Chimaera Publications at Smashwords

Copyright of this compilation Chimaera Publications 2021

Copyright on each story remains with the contributor

EPUB version ISBN 978-1-922471-06-2

ISSN 2200-307X (electronic)

CHIMAERA PUBLICATIONS

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Hard copy back issues of Aurealis can be obtained from the Aurealis website: www.aurealis.com.au

Contents

From the Cloud—Michael Pryor

Holes, Mountains, Ravens—A Marie Carter

The Void—Benjamin Keyworth

It Will Have Its Way—Andrew Knighton

Unicorns: Strength, Freedom and Awe Throughout History—Amy Laurens

On Slipstream: A Personal View—Eugen Bacon

Tell Me Why: Trans Representation, Interactive Drama and Memory Mechanics—Ani White

Reviews

Next Issue

Submissions to Aurealis

Credits

From the Cloud

Michael Pryor

After a recent trip to the chemist we’ve become convinced that the pharmaceutical industry has hundreds of Fantasy writers working for it.

We’re not sure if this has been a deliberate policy of recruiting down-at-heel Fantasy writers whose last trilogy was cut short after Book 2 or if hordes of canny Fantasy writers have seen an opportunity to ply their craft in an area of untold riches, but there is little doubt that the language of Fantasy is everywhere you look in the names of over-the-counter medications.

Consider Voltaren, for instance. It may be a handy cream for bruises and muscle pain, but it sounds as if it could be the name of a venerable mage of great power who is troubled by actions in his past that were prophesied by a wise woman of whom he took insufficient notice, the fool.

Here are some more:

Allerfexo. A bard, and possible comic relief. Known for his ribald versification and is likely to have his head cut off after offending some noble or other.

Mylanta. Possibly a place name, a far-off land of beauty and many lakes, ruled by a queen who is both just and fair.

Gaviscon. Rugged, but internally tortured, main character. Stolid, taciturn, loyal. Not dull, though.

Flixonase. Companion to the rugged, but internally tortured, main character. Humorous. Possibly plays the flute.

Hirudoid. A warrior tribe in a distant land—‘the fierce and unrelenting Hirudoid’.

Claratyne. Another place name, possibly in the mountains and featuring many towers. ‘To see the spires of Claratyne is to see the heights of creation.’

Telfast. An innkeeper. Wears an apron. Fat.

Lamisil. A sorceress of formidable power, the dread Lady Lamisil. She has a notable laugh that probably drives men mad.

Finalgon. A lesser wizard. Appears once in the story and then is never heard of again.

Zovirax. Evil. Wizard, warrior, doesn’t matter—is simply evil. Bound to be, with a Z and an X in his/her name.

Vosol. A soldier. Brave, loyal, accompanies the main character into dangerous territory and dies for his trouble.

Alcon. Possibly a city—‘brawling, bustling, breathtaking Alcon’. Possibly a thief—‘nimble-fingered Alcon, to whom no lock is barred. Possibly a river—‘swift and deep the mighty Alcon ran, league to league, through forest and mountain, from the plains to the sea, unmatched in its breadth and wetness’.

Savlon. A city. Not a very interesting one.

Coloxyl. A villainous duke. Oily, ingratiating, sinister, and sports a sensational goatee.

Dulcolax. Another villainous duke? Not as villainous as Coloxyl. Good with money, though.

Sorbolene. ‘Ah, Sorbolene, fair Sorbolene, the fair and star-eyed elvish queen! She makes this world both kind and clean, does hygienic Sorbolene!’ Or similar.

Imodium. Another city, most likely with a fortress that will be besieged by the ravening hordes of evil. Has impressive walls.

Combantrin. The dark and doom-wracked warrior overlord, Combantrin both stalks his fate and fears it. Whatever that means.

Is it any wonder that wandering around today’s chemist is like entering a grand, epic, sweeping tale of good versus evil, where vast magics are unleashed and brave goatherds are revealed to be the rightful heir to the throne after their courageous and self-sacrificing deeds.

Thank you, Big Pharma.

All the best from the cloud!

Michael Pryor

Editor: Michael Pryor

Michael Pryor has published more than 35 novels and 50 plus short stories. He has been shortlisted for the Aurealis Award nine times, and eight of his books have been CBCA Notable books. His website is www.michaelpryor.com.au.

Associate Editor: Terry Wood

Terry Wood is a political consultant, writer and editor from Brisbane, and has been an Associate Editor and Non-fiction Coordinator for Aurealis since 2015. He has also been involved previously with Andromeda Spaceways Magazine. He can be found at terrywood.com.au.

Back to Contents

Holes, Mountains, Ravens

A Marie Carter

Holes

Digging the hole is easy. It’s the screaming that’s the hard part.

Lungs squeezed raw of air, like sponges wrung out, throat choked hoarse and dry. But you cover the hole back in. Bury the pain deep. Let it lie there in the cool earth for the carcass beetles to unravel, wrapping their serrated mandibles around a frayed edge and tugging away until it’s just another decaying thing in the ground underfoot.

Nine months later, almost to the day, you’re back at it. Digging and wrenching at torn roots and loose dirt. The first time the earth was soft and damp, came up in dark brown tufts like an animal’s pelt, but this time there’s been no rain: the earth is dry and brittle, collapsing back into itself, refilling the very hole you are trying to dig. A Sisyphean task. You’re pushing a boulder up a mountain. This time digging the hole is the hard part; the screaming is as easy as you please. It’s such a release, something you’ve been wanting to do for months. You’re so used to silence now, not saying a word, just nodding or shaking your head accordingly. When he calls you ‘dearest’ you simply smile. When, in moments of forgetfulness, he speaks of your loss, mentions the children now gone, you weep. But quietly, only letting the tears fall down your cheeks, never making a sound, not even a sob. It is this, you can see, that makes him so uneasy: your silent weeping, like a doll’s face that’s sprung a leak, not like a real woman at all. Even a woman as noble as you