House of Zolo's Journal of Speculative Literature, Volume 2

By House of Zolo

An Amazon #1 Best Selling title in Science Fiction and Fantasy short stories.

 

A young reptilian endures a painful coming of age… A tailor who refurbishes old clothes struggles to come to terms with the immortality offered by new technologies… While exploring the dark web, a young woman creates a profile on a lesbian dating site for ghosts… Aliens abduct a young man and bring him to a mysterious resort many light years from Earth… A world leader with psychic powers diffuses a deadly international incident…

 

In this much anticipated second volume of speculative literature, authors examine relationships and how technology impacts our connections to each other, to nature, to space and time. The writing in this volume is often dark and rich in satire, yet there are many whimsical moments and a strong undertone of irreverence. Writers deep-dive into challenging themes to bring us stories and poems that explore gender, immortality, the obsolescence of the human body, biohacking, decay, and the evolution of love in a transhuman world.

 

House of Zolo's Journal of Speculative Literature Volume 2 contains twenty-five exceptional stories and poems, curated and edited by Erika Steeves and Nihls Andersen with guest poetry editor Jon Parsons.

 

Featuring:
John Andreini, Glen Armstrong, Shaun Avery, Meghan E. Bell, Gustavo Bondoni, Robert Borski, L Chan, William Delman, Alex Robert Franco, Will Isenberg, Daniel Loring Keating, M. Grace Melucci, Laurel Radzieski, dave ring, David F. Shultz, J. M. Sinclair, Sravani singampalli, JE Solo, Lisa Timpf, Dawn Vogel, Tracey Waddleton, Megan Wildhood, Gunnar De Winter, and Peri Dwyer Worrell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Zolo
• Release date: Oct 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989587102

Book preview

Introduction

We are so excited to present to you our second volume of speculative short stories and poetry. When we issued our inaugural call last year, we had no idea what we were getting into. We received a deluge of quality stories and loved so many of them that we decided to produce two volumes. It’s our pleasure to provide a platform to so many diverse, feminist, queer, and alternative voices from the speculative writing community.

The stories and poems in this book transport readers to the future and drop them into vistas of speculative possibility. Like in our first volume, the voices are rich and varied, some touching and sweet, some irreverent and sarcastic, and others highlighting the oppressive systems that cut across our daily lives. They invite the reader to imagine different worlds, different possibilities, all while reflecting the present back to us.

These stories and poems are like flares. Each one shines a light on a new world; the characters and the actions they take are illuminated with exquisite care. Whether it’s sitting down with a vampire who is also a practicing psychologist; fighting as a frontline poet in a rogue army; deciding to become parents in a world of socialized sterilization; or feeling left behind in a world of ubiquitous techno-worship, these stories deliver unique and compelling snapshots of future worlds and alternative (often dystopian) timelines.

In a year of so many disruptions and challenges, we are proud to bring you the second installment of some of the best speculative fiction and poetry out there. We hope you feel the collective heartbeat running through these stories, just as we did while selecting and editing them. Speculative literature opens us up to change by broadening our imagination, and highlighting our ability to see the flaws and inequalities of our world. As readers we are offered clues on how to step into and become that change.

That’s the power of literature.

Erika Steeves, HOZ Editor

Spectrum

by Gunnar De Winter

BLACK

Absence of rainbows,

A lack of light and lustre,

Fate forms in shadows.

WHEN THE POLYPHONOUS POEM HIT, Athena’s world went black.

Only the faint echo of her heartbeat remained. The rhythm bound her to the flow of reality.

Soon, another rhythm joined it, throbbing. Flashes in the darkness.

Her consciousness reassembled itself only to be welcomed by searing pain.

The iambic ignition had blown away almost half her face as the rival rhymes gnawed their way into reality. Torn skin, shattered bones.

Athena had been dragged from the battlefield and a hastily constructed makeshift metal mask now covered her gaping wound.

Pain and anger forced tears from her remaining eye when she propped herself up on her elbows. The bamboo legs of her bed made soft squelching sounds in the muddy floor of the field hospital. Soft moans of fellow fallen warriors accompanied the infantry poet as she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Not for long this time.

The beat of her heart and the throbs of her pain merged into a voiceless poem. Athena opened her eye. Shimmering monochromatic shapes danced in front of her, shapes that shifted in concert with the rhythm that called her.

Days passed. The shooting pain mutated into a pulsing numbness. Athena muttered inchoate poems to assist in her return to the battlefield. Her eye was constantly drawn to the colours dancing in front of her. Multihued streaks swirled in step with the words she was mumbling.

Ahem. Soldier?

A man stood beside her bed. Tall and muscular. Battle scarred. The butt of a rare plasma gun was visible above his bare shoulder. Are you recovering well?

It was difficult for Athena to focus on the man. Her one-eyed vision had to wade through a sea of coloured wraiths spinning around her. Yes.

Glad to hear it. You’ve been assigned to my squad . . . If you feel up for it?

And what squad is that?

The man grinned. Large canines flashed in a broad mouth. An . . . unregistered one.

The gun. The thick strands of hair. The elongated pupils. She had heard about this guy. Mercenaries.

He shrugged. We prefer to call ourselves fighters of fortune.

Do I have any choice?

Not really. Brass made the call. Apparently you’ve been reassessed as . . . He shrugged.

Expendable?

Eager for revenge.

Can be both.

True. In any case, we’re your best shot of getting back in the field.

Now it was her turn to shrug. Just get me in and then stay out of my way. They would pay for maiming her.

Will you be able to . . .

Of course. My tongue still works.

RED

Fuelled by angry heart,

Raging fire starts its red path,

Bright embers die hard.

Athena used her scarf to rein in her long unruly braids. The metal mask had been replaced by a sculpted carbon version. The marbled surface followed the contours of her face. Her new magenta eye seemed to catch the light and reflect it in small random flickers.

Get ready, Lion said. We’re about to drop.

The mercs called themselves the Felices. They were infamous for doing maneuvers regular infantry wouldn’t get permission for. (Or didn’t have the guts for, depending on who you’d ask.)

The jumper wasn’t much of a vehicle. Still, it was true to its name. It was launched. It fell. That’s about it. A large cannonball, filled with living cargo, designed to drop in the middle of enemy territory. Athena’s stomach leapt into her throat.

Lion bellowed with laughter.

Crazy bastard.

They would land behind an enemy regiment. Then, when the signal arrived, the mercs (and Athena, who still considered herself a proper soldier) would attack from the rear. In the mayhem, victory would come easy for the ‘real’ army that would join them.

There were no windows. ETA was an estimate at best. Suddenly, the airbags inflated violently and encased Athena and the others in an unpleasantly complete embrace.

Touchdown.

The sides and top of the disk-shaped vehicle blew away.

Something was wrong. Coloured dragons leapt at her, manifestations of poetry only she could see. Screams surrounded her. Whoever had aimed the jumper had aimed wrong. It had not landed behind the regiment but smack-dab in the middle of it.

Confused, she looked around. The deflated airbags were painted with angry red strokes. Almost all of her colleagues were down. Lion was surrounded, but his plasma guns kept his assailants at bay. Plasma weapons were a rarity, which was saving Lion’s life right now. That and his total disregard for danger. On her other side, she could see the dark flashes of the carbon sword, which was the preferred weapon of Puma, Lion’s closest (and only) friend. Enemies fell.

A verse was thrown at Athena like a spear. Her mask absorbed the impact, but the lightning strike of multisyllabic rhymes knocked her back.

Damn, they have a poet.

Lion roared. Bloody hell, Athena, do something! Aren’t you supposed to be a poet!?

Another verse came at her. Insidious. A snake of shadows, meant to poison and cripple.

Enough!

She molded her anger into words and forced rapid rhymes out of her mouth. A ribbon of colour formed around her, an orbiting swirl of rainbow only she could see.

The incandescent climax of her battle poem knocked everyone back. Athena fell to her knees, panting. Lion, who had ducked just in time, signalled Puma who was hiding behind the charred remains of a tree. The dazed enemies stood no chance.

Lion’s gravelly voice was the first sound she heard. Damn, I didn’t know you were that good.

I am not . . . I was not.

Puma threw a pebble at Lion to get the big man’s attention without having to speak. The silent fighter stood next to a groaning figure.

Lion walked over, followed by a stumbling Athena.

Well well, if it isn’t a poet.

The man on the ground turned around. Despite his bloody nose and dirt-streaked face, he looked distinguished with his grey hair and dark blue tunic. He ignored Lion and Puma. His eyes narrowed as he addressed Athena.

You can see it too, can’t you? You can see words.

YELLOW

Through dark clouds rays burn,

Forcing shadows to disperse,

Knowledge shall return.

Aspec sat cross-legged on the wooden bench that lined the inside of the cell. The poetic prisoner seemed oddly at ease in the hands of his enemies.

Athena scraped her throat. The sand of the battlefield still scratched. Her insides burned. Sandpaper in her vocal cords, a burning brick in her stomach.

Aspec opened his bright blue eyes and uncrossed his legs. He slowly put his hands on his thighs. Despite the blemishes of war, the prisoner looked . . . untouched. Painted with a radiant brush.

How did you know? Athena asked.

He shrugged. What you did, how you did it, that takes a certain degree of skill. In my experience, people with such skills have other . . . abilities . . . as well.

You?

Another shrug. Maybe.

Which means yes. How . . . I mean why . . .

They haven’t told you, I suppose?

Athena didn’t respond. Didn’t need to respond. Her ignorance was obvious.

Aspec’s deep chuckle bounced off the cell walls. Athena could actually see the sound, scythes of shadow that galloped through the cell. When she refocused her attention on Aspec, she noticed he was watching her closely.

My my, you are good, he said. It’s been a long time since I’ve met another one with our . . . talent.

Talent? More like the side effect of an attack that ripped off half my face. An attack by your friends.

Athena didn’t voice her thoughts. She needed to know more. How many others are there?

Aspec smiled. Let’s start at the beginning, because it seems like you don’t know much about it?

Insult? Question? Both?

Aspec continued. You’ve heard about the Painters, I presume?

Those mythical people who painted the world with their words? Fairytales.

Even fairytales tend to be anchored in reality.

Okay, so there are ancient super beings and there’s us. Anchor me, please.

Stupid stupid stupid. You don’t say please to a prisoner.

Some people’s brain is just . . . wired differently, their senses mixed up. Some are born with it, others are shocked into it. His eyes glinted as he looked at her. Anyway, those people can perceive the power of words, they can actually see how the right words, uttered at the right time with the right rhythm, can affect reality.

If that’s the case, why wouldn’t they tell me? Finding those people can give us an advantage against . . . She stopped dead in her tracks when she realized who she was talking to.

Against us? Sure. Against them? Also. What would you do if you finally realized that you are more powerful than the ones who control you? What would you do with the knowledge that they’ve lied to you from the beginning to cling to their despotic rule?

Athena frowned. She turned and left.

See you soon, Aspec said.

GREEN

Ancient masks show cracks,

Beyond realms of common sight,

Change steps on its tracks.

Athena put away the fine brush and gently blew on the tan shoulder of Nerva, urging the faint black swirls to dry. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing sweat beads as if they too were paint.

There had been a recent lull in the fighting. Their side was licking its wounds while the elimination of the regiment had left the other side ruffled. The thick blanket rumpled when Nerva turned to look at the stanzas Athena had drawn on her. My own guardian angel.

That voice. So sultry. So seductive. Athena’s heart quickened its step as she recalled the earlier lovemaking. Yes, well, they should protect you from the basic sword sonnets. Still, be careful.

Always. Nerva moved closer to Athena. A thick black curl fell in between their mouths as they both leaned in for a kiss. Nerva laughed. Athena smiled as she fell back on the rough pillow.

Are you all right? You seem distracted. Nerva grinned like the predator she was. Too distracted for this moment.

It’s nothing. It’s just . . . Have you ever wondered why we’re fighting?

Nerva cocked her head. Wasn’t expecting that. They want to kill us, simple as that.

Yeah, but they probably think the same about us. Have you never wondered why?

What do you mean?

I mean why we are fighting at all?

Because . . . It’s . . . We have our orders. To protect ourselves.

That’s too easy. Athena shook her head. Just following orders. Why those orders?

I don’t . . . Don’t you want revenge for what they did to you?

Of course, but I’m not so sure anymore about who to target.

Nerva chewed her bottom lip, unsure how to respond, unsure how and why the conversation had taken this turn.

Athena flung aside the blanket, rolled off the mattress, and slipped into her battledress and boots.

What’s wrong? Where are you going?

Before leaving her small lair in the warren of subterranean chambers, Athena turned around. Just need to clear my head. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

She still hadn’t escaped the viscous pool of thought that enveloped her mind when she arrived at Aspec’s cell.

Equanimous, the captured poet looked at her. Athena gazed back. Understanding formed in the silence that hung between them.

How do I know you’re telling the truth?

Aspec exhaled audibly. He shook his head. Look at the colour of my words. There’s much about your skill you still need to learn. There’s a lot you still don’t know.

Then teach me.

BLUE

A future unsealed,

The blue of wisdom draws near,

Purpose is revealed.

Lion was enthusiastic. Of course he was.

Madman.

When Athena told the two-person remnant of the Felices about her plan, the big man almost burst out of his scarred skin with glee.

She was going to defect, to strike out on her own. No more us against them. No more sides. She would find other poets and convince them to use their skills for a better world, not for inflicting pain and suffering. They would follow themselves, follow the rhythm of the universe.

But they would be a small group at first, hunted by everyone else. So she needed people skilled in guerilla tactics. Fortunately, she had gotten to know at least two who were potentially crazy enough to hear her out.

Why the sudden change of heart? Lion asked, pretending not to be already sold on the idea of doing something stupidly dangerous.

Athena tried to hide a smirk. She only half-succeeded. With a deep breath she forced the organic part of her face back into the shape of seriousness. Have you heard of the Painters?

Stories. Rumours.

Well, what if there was some truth to the stories and rumours?

How would you know this?

Let’s say I have some personal experience . . .

Puma sat huddled in a dark corner of the already dim room. His eyes, stuck between the black cowl and half face mask, narrowed. Athena could feel his gaze probing her.

Hmm, Lion said, assuming we would be interested, do you even have a plan? Or were you going to walk among the enemy asking people if they see, or can do, weird stuff?

No. We hide and observe. We listen. The words of a Painter carry a certain . . . quality. A texture, Athena rubbed her fingers together, a feeling.

Right. I don’t suppose you can pay us?

Well, Athena kneaded the thick carpet of braids on the back of her head. No. Not yet anyway. But I can give you purpose, the chance to contribute to something larger than just fighting.

There will be plenty of fighting in this crazy scheme.

I . . . Maybe.

Without a sound, Puma appeared next to his significantly larger colleague. Lion and Puma looked at each other. An unspoken conversation took place. Lion grinned, the broad smile slanting the charcoal lines beneath his eyes upwards. He shrugged. What’s money without adventure anyway? We still owe you our lives. When do we start?

There’s one thing you could help me with right now.

Breaking Aspec out would definitely mark them as traitors. It would be the pebble that sent the avalanche rolling.

I’m sorry, Nerva. I’ll miss you. I’m so sorry. There is no choice.

Her access to the prisoner and the shock and awe the Felices had mastered so well combined into a remarkably efficient extraction of the poetic prisoner. The four had already entered the depot where the Felices’ battle-streaked flier waited before the guards were aware of anything. Except for one. A shapely shadow lingered near the entry ramp. Lion pointed his plasma gun.

Wait! Athena shouted. Lion tucked away his pistol. Puma’s sword remained drawn.

Get out of here, Nerva! I’m sorry, but you have to go.

No, the other woman said firmly, I’m coming with you.

You don’t know . . .

Nerva held up her hand. I don’t care. I’m coming with you.

Athena reached her. The Felices and Aspec ran into the flier. Athena took Nerva’s hand and pulled her alongside onto the entry ramp. They huddled in the cargo hold, surrounded by the thrum of the engines. Nerva’s mouth moved. Athena couldn’t hear her words. She didn’t have to. They looked like a bright blue sky bathing in sunlight.

WHITE

All colours are one,

The spectrum is full and bursts,

Giving birth to dawn.

They were few, but their numbers were growing. Oddly, the Painters they had recruited so far were all women. Several of them had taken to painting half of their face in the colour of gun metal. Some had even implanted a bionic eye. Athena had become an incipient legend, an egg ready to burst into history.

She sighed as she looked in the small mirror. Even here, in her cramped room in their dugout, she found reality to be so much more complex than she had imagined. War was easy. Good versus bad. Yours versus the others. Orders versus thought. Things were a lot more difficult here, hidden away in the deepest recesses of the—so far—unperturbed woods.

At the best of times, life could even feel idyllic here. Reality tended to strike before that feeling had a chance to settle in. A scout party, a mission gone wrong. People died. Their small community had to move. No rest for the weary, no smooth sailing for noble motives.

It was worst when colours