A Quiet Afternoon 2: Another Peaceful Break from a Stressful World

By Grace & Victory Publications

A Quiet Afternoon 2
PREPARE YOURSELF... TO PROCRASTINATE

Find a comfy chair and get ready to put off those chores you've been meaning to do, because A Quiet Afternoon 2 is here to distract you with twenty-seven speculative Low-Fi tales of harmonious resolutions, idle

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grace & Victory Publications
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780994009777

Book preview

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Foreword

Laura DeHaan

Hello, friend. It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re still with us. How are you holding up? It’s been a rough year and everyone’s tired. But look at you: still here, ready for another round of low-stakes speculative fiction, or Low-Fi.

Why an anthology dedicated to Low-Fi? Because we are tired and overstimulated and wrung out. The real world is presenting us with more than enough actual life-or-death struggles that we frequently feel powerless to affect. We don’t need to read more of that in our escapist literature. Instead, we take comfortin stories featuring manageable goals and which celebrate small victories.

There are, of course, bittersweet tales as well: broken hearts, lost recipes, forgotten words. Even so, there are triumphs. That which is broken can be fixed, the lost found, the forgotten remembered. After every deep breath is the long exhale.

In, out.

The smallest act of rebellion against that which oppresses, frightens and seeks to defeat us: that indrawn breath. The smallest show of triumph in that accomplishment: the exhale.

In, out.

Celebrate that small victory. It is yours and you don’t need to share it with anyone. It is yours.

In a year when so much has been sacrificed, we present these 27 stories as offerings, as lighthouses on a rocky coast, as tiny flames to keep the cold at bay. While we can’t promise a gloriously blazing dawn, we guarantee there’s time yet before the deepest midnight. This is A Quiet Afternoon 2, and we’re very happy to have you here.

Take care of yourselves and each other.

Laura DeHaan

Toronto, July 2021

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SADEDALI AND THE SECRET LIFE OF CLOUDS

Maraki Piedras

Sadedali always rouses her human just before dawn. She starts at the feet, and goes on stomping her way up till she is poised exactly on the human’s chest, all the easier to play with Human’s long, chewy head-fur. She is, as they say, nothing if not a creature of habit—and if she does something differently, Human may not be there on time to make the sun rise and another sky-witch would get the job!

Human grumbles to herself as she rolls onto her side, what sound like arcane curses. They leap out of her mouth and perch themselves on the rafters: wispy, transient shapes for Sadedali to chase later. For now, she leaves them alone and paws at Human’s face instead, calling her to order—a trick that has never failed her in an emergency.

Human scoops her up, and off they go. Today, there isn’t even a hint of orange or gold up above, only darkness and heavy cloud—with a terrible drumming noise, the air soaked all through and dripping water as though from a burst pipe.

What is it, baby? the silly Human asks, cradling her closer. What’s wrong?

Suppressing that treacherous urge to nuzzle, Sadedali gives that warm hand a sharp nip before darting down to wedge herself between the pots of rare desert plants that change colours with the hour.

Oh, Human says, rubbing her eyes and meeting Sadedali’s look, full of not-entirely-silent reproach. It’s just the rain, my sweet spring onion—haven’t I told you about it before?

Sadedali lets out a quizzical whine that roughly translates as why is it so loud? Can’t you tell it to stop that nonsense at once?>

When she was very-very young—four months ago, a whole lifetime!—she narrowly survived a run-in with a faery hound, and since then, she has not been overly fond of anything too loud or too sudden.

Rain is only water from the clouds—it won’t hurt you, Human murmurs, picking her up again as though she were made of porcelain; Sadedali graciously allows it. Come on, Sadie, I’ll show you properly.

Unlike most of her kind, Sadedali does not dislike water, exactly—she is convinced that should there ever be a need, she could learn to swim. But she does also love her creature comforts so, and wet is not a comfortable state to be in.

Human crosses the covered terrace, stepping over some of Sadedali’s forgotten toys, book and blanket piles, and at least one illusion that she has forgotten to dispel. Humans are absent-minded like that!

You see? Human gestures with her free hand, Sadedali having climbed onto her broad, cozy shoulder. The noise happens when it splashes onto the ground or on our rooftop.

With a grimace, Sadedali turns away from the new swamp in the garden, sharpening her claws on Human’s oversized knit-fur.

your ground,> she insists.

Human chuckles, like she hasn’t understood that it wasn’t a suggestion. (Sadedali generally does not hold with those—when it comes to humans, bluntly phrased demands have served her much better so far.)

Tell you what, little onion, Human continues, nuzzling Sadedali’s side, why don’t you talk to them yourself? It’s about time you started learning their language, anyhow.

She pauses to shield the two of them with a waterproof cloak that makes them look like a walking tent. But the enchantment on it was placed by Human’s grandmother and so it works almost as well as Sadedali’s usual tricks.

Outside, the grass has clearly mistaken the winter for spring; hovering right over it is one of those clouds that are causing Sadedali so much grief.

I knew it! Human exclaims in satisfaction. "This wasn’t supposed to happen for weeks yet—but then this young one decided to play at being a big bad stormbringer, isn’t that right? I’m not a weather-witch for nothing, eh? She reaches up to nudge Sadedali. Why don’t you say hello?"

Sadedali curls back her ears and peers at the cloudlet in question dubiously. All of a sudden, it changes shape, mirroring her own elegant form down to the shortish tail and large, mobile ears.

"Yes, of course it has. That is how it talks. And if you want it to stop raining, you’re going to have to make friends with it."

Sadedali, friends with that? She would sooner bite off her own tail and invite over a nighthound!

The cloud must have heard her, because at once it showers them with a strategic sheet of watery missiles. Fortunately, the human enchantment holds.

And so it begins. For a while after that morning’s storm, the cloud is nowhere to be seen, as like as not having gotten in trouble with its elders. But then Human goes climbing the Windmill Hill, to negotiate with the troublesome early spring winds on behalf of a miller who hasn’t been paying his proper tributes, and from her special padded basket on Human’s back, Sadedali catches Rainmaker spying on the proceedings.

It looks nothing like her now, mimicking a dragon instead, painted with the rose light of dusk. Under her unfriendly scrutiny, it fidgets, as though searching for a nasty little drop to send her way. But instead, it merely floats away, feigning disinterest—to catch her off-guard, no doubt.

How dare it ignore her?

From then on, Sadedali keeps an even closer eye on the sky than usual. Annoyed as she is by its song, she wants to show Rainmaker who is the true mistress of her domain. But when it rains, it drums and drums, and none of her forays is any less angry or wet.

Human dries her off and says nothing of use.

One morning after, Sadedali is napping on the sun-warmed rooftop, under the shade of her favourite fig tree, whose spirit is a plump, round-faced creature with a smile and a wink for any amount of mischief a kitten can get up to.

A dazzling flash bursts right into her dreams of vast savannahs and endless hunting. Alarmed, she jolts upright, claws out and ready to sink into the offender.

The cloud—Rainmaker, to be sure—reforms and wags a tendril at her before dappling the space around her with sun spots. Hissing, she shoots forth like lightning. But no matter how high she climbs, she just can’t reach it.

she demands at bedtime, treading all over Human.

It doesn’t work like that. Human attempts a soothing pat. "Every great hunter must have a lot of patience, my princess."

A great hunter she most certainly is, but the only thing that she keeps catching from the sky is mere flecks of sunlight.

Her moment finally comes when Human is away on yet another long, tedious, and wholly unnecessary human errand. Knowing full well what a proud, unruly tribe the south winds are, Sadedali lures the young cloud just a leap too close to their path and watches it getting blown far, far away in something... less than kin to perfect satisfaction.

That night, a real storm charges in ahead of the season, with motherclouds buzzing angrily as they search high and low for their lost mischief-maker.

That wasn’t a very nice thing to do, now, was it? Human comments, petting her.

Sadedali flattens her ears. And, after a pause:

Truth to be told, the rooftop might grow a bit lonelier now, without those stray specks to chase...

There are many things that Human could say to that. Instead, she merely sighs and gathers her hair up into a ball Sadedali can’t play with so easily. I’ll get my boat—or else it’ll never stop raining, and the whole village will be flooded.

Upon some further reflection, Sadedali likes their village exactly the way it is.

Let this be a lesson to us both, Human mutters. Clearly you’re too feral to make friends with anybody.

she protests, rubbing against Human’s neck.

You don’t fool me, baby.

Between them and the boat, there is a slippery, treacherous island cliffside. The rain is making it hard to see and smell, too. Fortunately, Human has a magic lantern as well as the trusty cloak. Sadedali curls up, wishing that she had stayed home for this one.

Now remember, Human says sternly as she looses the rope and shoves off. "No matter what you hear or feel like going after, stay in the boat. If I have to rescue you like last time, we’re going to lose our way."

Sadedali spares her barely half a glance, flicking her tail in impatience. Where is their quarry?

After a while of rowing and following the coast, Human recognizes another rocky formation, shaped like a very ugly human head indeed. "Trust you to get a poor little cloud caught by the Eukrantids, Sadedali!"

Being patrons of successful fishing voyages, they make the best nets in the Foam-White Archipelago, and one of them, Eumolpe, rivals the winged sirens with her singing voice. But Sadedali and caution are perfect strangers—someone else has her prey, so she must reclaim it from them!

Right, Human said, having argued in favour of retreating and rethinking for a bit, for form’s sake. We’re going to need a new plan.

The sea maidens mostly wish sky-singers like Sadedali’s human no ill, but only so long as they keep to the shore, honouring the Eukrantids’ superiority and prior claim over the seam where the land meets the sea and everything beyond. Sadedali and Human, for their part, consider it theirs to patrol as they please. Hence the conflict of interests.

Human lures them out of their cave with bad music and yowling (Sadedali is the one doing the yowling, mind).

Eumolpe is the first to arrive, wearing bits of cloud around her neck like a feather boa, tied with a golden thread. It’s the latest fashion. Sadedali studies all six one by one, but they must be keeping Rainmaker in reserve for now.

You wouldn’t happen to have a cloudlet caught in your nets, o daughters of the merciless sea, would you? Human asks, after the usual greetings.

So what if we do? Eumolpe replies dismissively.

We’re not giving it back, one of her sisters adds.

I wouldn’t dream of asking, Human assures them. But perhaps I might suggest a better use for all this cloud and thread?

And why should we listen to some busybody?

Human spreads out her arms, Sadedali winding herself around Human’s left ankle. "Because this humble busybody has learnt how to fly."

It is very simple, really, she explains. All she needs for a quick demonstration is those two materials and a little patience from the sea maidens.

Suspicious though they may be, they have always dreamt of besting their airborne cousins. So they allow Human to tie a thread to the frightened Rainmaker and then open the net.

At once, the cloudlet bursts free, dragging Human behind it like a very strange tail. Sadedali voices her protest, chasing after them.

Hurry up, girl! Human shouts, gesturing at her to jump back into the boat.

Sadedali goes sailing through the air, hitting wood instead of water. And before she can slide down into the waves, Human scoops her up. Behind them, the sea maidens are readying their nets.

But a cloud can be surprisingly fast, given the right push.

Yet the nets keep splashing down, too close for comfort. Human holds Sadedali close, soothing her shivers.

Sadedali whines.

"I can’t." But Human points upwards, showing her the storm clouds regrouping behind them.

Their lightning bolts force the sea maidens to scatter, the friendly winds helping Rainmaker tow Sadedali and Human towards their own shore. The sky above it is clear and purple, speckled with stars.

Human unties the thread from the prow, letting Rainmaker drift away to its own kind. "And that, my dear, is how you make friends with a cloud," she concludes.

Sadedali shall never do something so unseemly as admit it, but she is somewhat impressed—hitching free rides tends to be her prerogative. But humans are vain creatures and therefore must be praised as little as possible.

The two of them have not a shadow of doubt that the cloudlet will be back.

Maraki is a Santorini tour guide and seasoned traveller to other worlds, both solo and in her best friend and co-writer’s company. Still, every creative spark wants more minds to ignite, so she always loves sharing glimpses of these worlds with others. Currently feeding a dozen cats and about as many plot seedlings.

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THE IRISH LUDDITES

Eamonn Murphy

What is it? said Jack the plasterer, a tall, lean man, which suited his occupation. He hadn’t started work yet, so his black hair was still clean, but his overalls retained the stains of last week’s spreading.

Brendan was as solid as the bricks he laid and his hair was almost the same colour. He was also the site foreman and took care of administration. He had just come in and was sorting through the mail on the front doormat. He noticed a letter from the electricity board marked urgent and ripped it open. It was another request for a meter reading. That one should be passed to the boss ASAP. He stuffed it in his inside coat pocket and went into the large hall to join his mates. Then he saw it.

What is that?

Nobody knew. The four builders slowly circumnavigated the strange contraption that had appeared on site that morning. Since it was already ten past eight, they should have been working, refurbishing the large Dublin mansion, but curiosity delayed them.

The labourer rolled a cigarette and eyed the thing warily. A little man born in Cork sixty years before, Liam hadn’t much time for anything modern. It looks like something out of one of them sky-fi programs.

Sci-fi, Sean corrected. Slim and fit from Gaelic football, Sean was a student at Dublin University, working the summer months with his Uncle Brendan.

Is it a vending machine? asked Jack, the plasterer.

The object of their attention was a metal cube about four feet high, mounted