A Merchant in Oria and Other Tales

By David Wiley

     Firion is a young merchant descended from generations of merchants. His first big break comes along when he sets out to trade with the wealthy dwarven kingdom of Oria. He has always dreamed of visiting this grand kingdom, having heard his father describe it in detail a hundred times while he was younger. But when Firion arrives in Oria, he is jarred by the details present that contradict with the image etched into his mind.

     Something dark and sinister seems to be afoot in Oria, but Firion knows he is no hero. He is just a simple merchant, and what can an ordinary person do in the face of danger and deception?

     A Merchant in Oria, the feature tale in this collection, follows a reluctant hero as he gets swept upon a journey he didn't seek. That and more can be found within these pages. Thirteen tales, each unique - sharing the bond of author. Rooted in science fiction and fantasy, with several tales paying homage to Arthurian legend and Medieval roots, the stories you will read are as varied as the interests of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Wiley
• Release date: Jul 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201233211

David Wiley

My name is David Wiley and I love to read and write. Growing up I always could be found with my nose in a book, graduating from Dr. Seuss to Goosebumps to Redwall, and then into the broad realms of Science Fiction and Fantasy. As they years have progressed I have discovered a love, in particular, for the works of Tolkien and for Medieval Literature such as Beowulf. Books will undoubtedly remain a piece of who I am until the day I die. Writing, on the other hand, has an on-again, off-again relationship with me. I go through streaks of intensive writing and thoroughly enjoy those times. I go through equally-intensive stretches where I struggle to string together a few paragraphs because my interest gets pulled in other directions. But, like Tolkien, I am a sub-creator at heart and love to tell stories and imagine characters and worlds and my hope remains that, one day, something I write will capture the imagination of a reader and transport them to a world they have fallen in love with.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Lost in a Familiar Place

The Unobliging Princess

The Best Birthday

Words Like Rain

The Portentous Passenger

The First Martian Church of God

The Nano-Knights of Mars

The Saga of Artur Uthersson

The Saga of Freydis Beastsbane

Ogre Hunt

Doppleganger Danger

Taking Down Goliath

A Merchant in Oria

Acknowledgments

To say that it takes a village to influence something like this is an understatement. First and foremost, I need to give tremendous appreciation to my wife, Nicole, who has not only stood by me for years and been supportive of all of my hobbies, but has been the steadfast voice in my corner every time I’ve wanted to write and send my writing out for publication. Writing is viewed as a solitary act, yet we undeniably grow and develop in small and subtle ways and those things have ways of showing up on the page. All of the authors I’ve read - whether I loved their stories or not - have left fingerprints upon my writing. The writers I befriended and interacted with between 2012-2016, when most of these were written and published, played a big part in my limited success at finding publication and a joy in the process of writing and interacting. In 2021, I rediscovered that same community through Booktube, which in turn reignited my desire to get these stories back into public hands. And, of course, since all but two of these were published in previous locations my unending gratitude goes out to the original publications where these stories (and poem) first appeared. Each of them has recognition alongside the story as they appear here - and they have all remained untouched from the published version that appeared through their release. Last of all, yet equally important, is you. Yes, you, dear reader. Because these stories yearn to be consumed by folks other than myself. I enjoyed writing them years ago, and I greatly enjoyed rediscovering them again this year. And I hope you, too, find them to be enjoyable as a collective whole.

Introduction

Novelist. Writer. Storyteller . Poet. Playwright. Bard. Gleeman. Skald. Scop. The words we ascribe to a person who tells stories might change across time and the medium used to tell the story, but the concept remains the same: a person who entertains others with the telling of tales, true or untrue. I am particularly fond of the gloss by Hugh Magennis in his book Translating Beowulf , where he ascribes a scop as a man ... mindful of songs, who remembered a multitude of stories from the whole range of ancient traditions, found new words, properly bound together. I yearn to be that scop, the one who absorbs, remembers, and ascribes inspiration from a multitude of tales from ancient traditions. Above all that, though, I desire to have my stories be read and enjoyed by others.

The volume you have here is a compilation of short stories of various length, genre, and style. Nearly every tale in here has seen itself in print prior to this release, and they will all have the prior publication information included at the start of the story. One story in here - The Nano-Knights of Mars - is the exception to that common thread. It forms the first of three Arthurian-inspired short stories, although with a Science Fiction setting that is gritty, dark, and slightly militaristic in nature. I still enjoy it today, and felt it was still worth including in this collection and I hope you do, too.

Like any collection of short stories, there are bound to be some that you’ll cling to as favorites and others that miss the mark for you. I’ve certainly read enough of these anthologies and collections to know how rare it is, indeed, to find any one volume that is filled with nothing but excellence. Yet it is my earnest hope and desire that at least one of these will strike a chord for each and every reader that chooses to give this book a read. The book itself can be considered to be broken into three distinct sections. The first contains the stories that lack any common thread between each other, and open up with my shorter stories such as Lost in a Familiar Place and The Best Birthday and conclude with The First Martian Church of God. On some of these stories you can see the fingerprints of some of the writers who have influenced my own growth - I recently reread The Martian Chronicles and could clearly see how Bradbury, in particular, inspired and impacted The First Martian Church of God which is, to this day, one of my favorite stories.

The second section contains three stories: The Nano-Knights of Mars, The Saga of Artur Uthersson, and The Saga of Freydis Beastsbane. All three of them have echoes of Arthurian influence running through them, and the latter two also provide homage to the wonderful Icelandic sagas. Freydis, in particular, is a delightful tale which features the Questing Beast from Arthurian lore and is arguably my favorite from that trio of stories. I’ve read and watched Arthurian tales for as long as I can remember, and I wanted to play in the Arthurian sandbox of ideas without doing straight retellings of the popular tales. I believe I’ve accomplished that with these three short stories, and look forward to the day when I take up the challenge of doing a proper collection of Arthurian retellings.

The final set of stories are set in the same world as my first published novel, Monster Huntress, which should get rereleased before the end of 2021. In fact, the first three in that series of stories follow the same protagonist of that novel, although she is much older in these stories - all of which were written prior to the writing of her own novel that will, hopefully, become a trilogy some day. The flagship story in this collection is, of course, A Merchant in Oria. This was previously released as a novella, and is a self-contained story set within the same world as Monster Huntress but follows its own unique set of characters in a different part of the world. It starts off with some fun circumstances and follows a protagonist who is certainly not the most conventional hero for a story. That makes him more relatable to me, personally, and I see a lot of myself reflected in his thoughts over the progression of that story.

So why self-publish this collection instead of circulating it around in a more traditional method? As time has progressed and I’ve been able to reflect upon my experiences with writing and the entire submission process for getting writing published, it became clear to me that I could follow along a few different paths. One would be to circle back around to another small indie press and hope for a better overall process than what I received the first time around. The second choice would involve the long, grueling process of traditional submission and publication where my biggest complaint remains the length of time to get any sense of approval or rejection. Or I could try my hand at self-publication - not out of any hope of maximizing profits or churning out unedited books, but rather to cherish the joy of having things read by others.

Regardless of how you came across this collection of tales, I am glad you have done so and wish you an enjoyable journey through the stories told within. If you found even one that brought you a sense of joy, then I have accomplished my purpose. Thank you, dear reader, for without you my words would remain hoarded up like a dragon’s treasure within my own mind - a fate I’d not like them to be subjected to.

Lost in a Familiar Place

Originally published in Firewords Quarterly, Issue Two – Summer

As the lights went out, everything changed. She could feel it in the air: the subtle drop in temperature, the wispy tendrils of mist caressing her limbs with the familiarity of a long lost lover. She could see it, too; not in houses and streets around her but in the stars above. The glimmering lights unveiled new pictures on the canvas of the night sky. Then, as suddenly as they went out, the lights came back on.

Nothing around her had changed but she knew this wasn’t the same street. Or, more precisely, not the same reality. The street name was probably the same because the houses were the same, even down to the shrubbery trimmed in the shape of a swan, but it was different at the same time. She knew that if she walked into her house it wouldn’t be her home. Not here. It would be a different her. Perhaps ginger or blonde instead of her bland chestnut hair. Perhaps striking blue eyes rather than her boring brown. Working some exciting job, no doubt. Did this version of her manage to pursue her childhood dream?

She took a step toward the familiar house. Another step. She was standing on the front step before she realized it. Just as she had done so many times. She knew she shouldn’t knock. She had been warned, back when she first learned about her ability to slip into alternate realities of her world. She had made her mark in many worlds, shared in many loves and adventures and escaped death more times than she could count in exotic locales. Yet she kept finding herself drawn here, back to this one reality. Almost identical to her own.

She raised a hand to knock on the door. She had done that before, a few times actually, but she always slipped back into her own world before the door opened. Her knuckles rapped on the wood. Her mind screamed to escape but her body stood solid, resolute. The door opened for the first time.

When she saw him there, she finally understood. He cried out her name, wrapped his arms around her and she felt warm tears splash on her face. This wasn’t her world, her life, her husband. But as he thanked God for finally sending her back after three years, she knew that she would never set foot into another reality again.

The Unobliging Princess

Originally published in Quickfic Anthology 1 by digitalfictionpub.com

J ust take me home, she said with a scowl. This was not the sort of reaction that Alistair was used to hearing from rescued damsels in distress. He had been in the business of saving princesses his whole life, and all of them had rewarded him with the obligatory kiss and swooned in his arms as he carried them from their prison. This one refused to do either of those things. She wouldn’t even let him carry her.

Fair maiden, Alistair replied, I have ridden for months straight with the purpose of your rescue. In the courtyard below I risked life and limb in mortal combat with a fierce, fire-breathing dragon. He paused to rub his singed white mustache with a gauntleted hand. The lines on his face made him look like a raisin that had been left in the sun for far too long. His black eyes watched her intently for signs of gratitude and, seeing none, he knelt before her and swooped her hand in his, kissing it gently. She pulled her hand away, her azure eyes flashing signs of annoyance.

Just take me home, sir knight, she said, and I will be grateful.

As you wish, my lady.

She pouted and stomped her way down dozens of steps as they descended from the tall tower, keeping several paces behind Alistair. Despite her rebellious attitude and the anger written upon her face, he couldn’t help admire how beautiful she was. Every damsel that was in distress was bound to be beautiful, but this one surpassed all others. She could be none other than his beloved beauty, Esmeralda. He envisioned her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her toward his noble steed. She would lean up on occasion and kiss his cheek like every other rescued maiden and they would gallop into the sunset.

He missed a step while day dreaming and tumbled down the stairs, adding fresh dents to his rusted armor. The visor on his helmet slammed shut as he crashed into the wall, obscuring his vision. He got to his feet and unsheathed his sword, spinning around. He slammed the blade onto the stair with a powerful strike and the maiden gasped, backing up a few stairs to keep out of striking distance.

You think you can deflect the mighty sword, Light Blade? he said as he readied another strike. I am the eternally renowned Alistair the Brave. You shall not take my fair Esmeralda from me, foul fiend! He swung another blow that hit the wall of the tower, shattering the blade into dozens of splinters. The impact sent Alistair backwards and he tumbled down a few more steps and crashed into the wall again. He lay motionless for a minute, mentally braced for a finishing blow to be dealt to him. When it didn’t come he shouted out, What are you waiting for, fiend? You have bested the greatest knight in the land, now come and finish the deed.

When nothing happened he reached up and lifted his visor and found the stairway to be completely empty. Both the villain that attacked him and his damsel had disappeared. My arch nemesis, Merlock the Sorcerer, has run off with Esmeralda. Fear not, my lady, I shall find you once more!

He charged back up the stairs, bereft of weaponry, and burst into the room where he found the maiden. She was lowering a rope out of the window, one end tied securely to a bed frame. She froze in place when she saw him enter the room and a forced smile crept onto her face. Mighty Alistair, you have found me, she said in a flat tone.

My fair Esmeralda, it warms my heart to see the evil Merlock did not make it far with you. I have returned to rescue you from this tall tower.

He strode across the room and scooped her into his arms. He leaned in for a kiss but was interrupted by the door slamming shut. He spun around, a look of fierce determination written upon his face. He set the maiden down and reached for his sword, forgetting it had been broken on the stairs. Across from him was a man dressed in long, flowing tan robes. Several gaudy talismans hung around his neck. He wore rings on his pale hands that glimmered in the light as he clutched a thick oak staff.

Merlock! Alistair exclaimed in surprise.

You didn’t think I would let you get away so easily, Alistair, he said as he licked his cracked lips, did you? The young Esmeralda is mine and will be my virgin sacrifice tonight!

Alistair charged forward, reaching once again for his shattered sword. He came to a halt a few feet away from his enemy, baffled by his lack of weaponry. Merlock’s staff passed inches from his head. Merlock swung his staff a second time, but Alistair regained enough of his wits to perceive the attack. He ducked under the blow and kicked the sorcerer in the gut, knocking the wind from his foe. The small man fell to the ground and the staff fell free from his grasp, rolling across the floor. Alistair turned back to Esmeralda and knelt before her, grabbing her hand in his.

Radiant Esmeralda, I have vanquished the evil sorcerer. The time is nigh for us to make our escape before he regains his senses.

He kissed her hand and turned to get to his feet when Merlock struck him with his staff, knocking Alistair unconscious. The sorcerer panted heavily, leaning on his staff. The young woman looked relieved, and gave him a hug. Merlock pulled back his hood and wiped sweat from his forehead.

It is hot in this thing, he said. He looked down at Alistair, who lay motionless on the floor. are you ready to go?

The young woman nodded and frowned at the knight laying at her feet. Let’s get grandfather back home where he belongs.

Sorry I was late getting up here. I had to put out a fire that he started from attacking a torch in the courtyard, and then I almost slipped on the remnants of his wooden sword on the stairs.

At least he didn’t try to kiss you. That was awkward.

Do you think he will ever get back to normal? the young man asked as they lifted the frail knight in their arms and headed down the stairs.

I don’t think so. It has been three years since the stroke and ever since he has had this fantasy of being a knight. Someday we’ll stop going along with this quixotic charade.

Maybe someday, but not today.

The Best Birthday

Originally published on Eat Sleep Write

T he place I like best in this world is the kitchen, Lily said to Arwyn, her new doll, as she carried her through the halls of the house. Lily stopped and held the doll out at arm’s length again, running her fingers through its yellow yarn hair. She wished she had long, blond hair instead of her ugly brown hair that was cropped short but she knew Lady Lavender would never allow her to grow her hair out. She would never let her have a doll, either.

But Lily wasn’t going to tell her about Arwyn because she was a special doll, made for her by her mommy. If Lady Lavender didn’t know about Arwyn she couldn’t get mad and take her away like she did the other ones.

She rounded the corner and started down the stairs, her bare feet slapping upon the cold stone. She could hardly wait to show Arwyn the kitchen. They have the nicest people down there, but sometimes when Lady Lavender spills on her dress she blames it on them. I don’t like it when she blames things on other people, ‘specially when she did it.

The stairs spiraled downward, wrapping in a seemingly endless loop. A few candles burned in brackets along the way to cast just enough light to navigate the passage. Most of the stairway was encased in shadows, making it hard to tell if someone was coming up. Even though she was looking ahead, Lily jumped when Lady Lavender stepped in front of her with her pudgy arms crossed over her chest. Her black hair was elegantly braided with ribbons. A dainty silver tiara sat on her head. Her pink dress swelled around her figure, wrinkled and starting to tear. Beneath her chin was a large brown gravy stain. She glared at Lily, tapping her foot and pursing her lips in a tight frown.

Where do you think you are going? Lavender said coldly, her goat-like voice echoing. I need help changing my – what is that?

Lily gasped and tried to hide her doll from view but she knew it was too late. She was caught and now she knew Lady Lavender would slap her and take the doll for herself. She didn’t want to lose Arwyn. Her mom just gave it to her an hour ago. She had to think fast.

This is my, um, your doll for your, um, half birthday, Lily said. Lady Lavender started to frown even more. "I was just, um, giving it a tour of,