Tales of the Forsaken

By Cameron Walker

A collection of seventeen short stories from author Cameron Walker. Tales of the Forsaken is a retrospective collection of the writer’s work designed to showcase his diverse writing style across a variety of genres. Including horror, weird fiction, sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, thriller, drama, adventure and historical fiction. Featuring the stories A Dream of Pirates, Forsaken, Xenopia, Veteran of the Psychic Wars, The Ferryman, Big City Lights, Elysian Fields, Tom or Vallen of Argaroth, Secrets, The Alabaster Gentleman, The Goon Sack, Knights of the Cross, Flight of the Archangels, The Park, Pirates of Peril, Shadow Me and Unholy Cosmic Terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cameron Walker
• Release date: Sep 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005267193

Cameron Walker

Cameron Walker is a thirty-four-year-old writer from Sydney, Australia, where he resides with his two cats Bubbles and Einari. He first began writing in 2003 at the age of sixteen, where he quickly became interested in writing fanfiction, and soon went on to participate in chain stories and online text-based RPGs. He released his debut novel, the high seas pirate adventure, Devil’s Eye in 2019, and has since released a short story anthology Tales of the Forsaken (2020), and a novella Revenant: Into the Abyss (2020). He mostly writes speculative fiction in a wide range of genres, but specifically horror, fantasy, historical, cyberpunk, and science fiction. Cameron cites R.L. Stine, George Lucas, J.R.R Tolkien, Robert Louis Stevenson, Joss Whedon, and H.P. Lovecraft as the main influences on his writing. He is known for his eclectic style and willingness to always be experimenting, trying something new, and pushing the boundaries of his work.

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Copyright: Cameron Walker/Forsaken Press

2020

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Tales of the Forsaken

Dedication:

In loving memory of my great grandparents Raymond and Ruby Harris.

Contents

About the anthology:

5

Forsaken: 14

Xenopia: 40

Veteran of the Psychic Wars: 51

The Ferryman: 69

Big City Lights: 80

Elysian Fields: 92

Tom, or Vallen of Argaroth: 106

Secrets: 120

The Alabaster Gentleman: 128

The Goon Sack: 142

Knights of the Cross: 156

Flight of the Archangels: 173

The Park: 191

Pirates of Peril: 198

Shadow Me: 215

Unholy Cosmic Terror: 225

About the anthology:

Originally I was going to compile a significantly longer anthology of stories, but in the process of doing so ultimately decided that it made more sense to publish the anthology as is instead of adding a load of new stories to it. This decision was aided by the realisation that a considerable amount of the stories in the anthology dealt with the theme of loss in some way or another, not by design, but certainly a reflection of my own psychological condition and the acknowledgement that upon reflection I have dealt with a lot of loss in my life. The vast majority of the tales in this anthology are ones that I wrote pre-2019 in what I consider to be my early days. I feel I have entered a new stage of my literary journey over the past year since the publication of my debut novel Devil’s Eye. Therefore it made sense to separate my older stories from my new material, and dedicate this anthology to my older work as a monument of sorts to where I began, where I am now, and how far I have come since I first began writing all those years ago. Hence, this retrospective was born.

I began writing in 2004 and I view those first few formative years from 2004-2008 as my educational phase where I was essentially just learning how to write and develop my own style. In a way I regret not having all the material still; but considering the quality of it, maybe it was for the best that it is lost to the abyss of time.

The stories within this anthology are a mishmash of different styles, genres, narratives, and plot devices in which I was doing a lot of experimenting in my efforts to improve my creativity and skill as a writer. Their origins and design are equally as diverse with some being older stories, extended or alternate versions, and partial or complete rewrites. Including a piece entitled The Ferryman, which was originally written as the beginning of a novel which I later abandoned. The reasons and motivations behind their origins and inclusion in this anthology will be explained by a brief introduction to each story throughout the collection.

The reason this book took so long to put together and publish, despite the fact a lot of the stories already existed, was the extensive amount of work I did with editing, proof reading, rewriting, and formatting. Which involved rewriting stories that required it, due to their originally being fan-fiction, extending certain stories that I felt were missing something, and altering or rewriting others in order to improve their quality and bring them closer to the original story I had in mind. As a sort of bonus, I have opted to include a few newer stories that were devised and written in 2018-2019, but still belong due to their connection to my older material.

This collection is a relatively short one in comparison to my novel Devil’s Eye. The reason for this being that there simply wasn’t an abundance of older material that I felt was good enough to warrant revisiting. A large volume of the older stories were fan-fiction works, and while a significant number were good stories in their own right, they didn’t work very well outside of the universe they were set in, or were part of a much longer and more elaborate collaborative work. At one point I planned to add a number of additional stories to this collection; but ended up abandoning them as something about it felt off and I couldn’t motivate myself to write them. So, following my intuition, I scrapped them from the collection. The most prominent among them being the 15,000 word novelette Last Dawn, a considerably more stripped down, reflective, and philosophical story based on the first novel I began writing while in high school, about the life and crimes of a 2,000 year old vampire. Thanks to the popularity a certain series of vampire novels/movies that I find absolutely dreadful, I have been discouraged from revisiting the topic and won’t go near it. That story is far in the past, and some things, for better or for worse, should stay there.

In a sense this retrospective anthology is a way for me to bid farewell to my literary past as I focus on the future, while doing something with the older material I have in my possession that I feel deserves to be released. I had a lot of ideas I hadn’t done anything with, along with the plethora of stories just laying around not doing anything and remaining unseen. I made the decision some time ago to cast aside a lot of ideas because I have plenty of fresh ones that I am more excited about and want to work on, which are better than a lot of my older ideas.

This collection also serves the purpose of wiping the slate clean so to speak, where I can release some good quality material, pay tribute to my literary career thus far, and start afresh on the next phase of my journey.

I spent a lot of time and effort writing these stories and then more working on improving their quality and having them be an accurate reflection of what I originally intended. To wrap things up, my sincerest thanks for purchasing and reading this anthology. Sit back, relax, and immerse yourself in seventeen tales of death, magic, action, adventure, chaos, mystery, wonder and horror. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

A Dream of Pirates:

Introduction:

Written on a whim, this story is a tribute to some of the more positive memories I have of my father. It is an ode of sorts to what I have pinpointed as the event that ignited my love of reading and imagination, and as a result, writing. The memory in question was my dad reading Treasure Island to me of a night when I was young, when we had just moved to Byron Bay where we stayed at a caravan park near the beach. The story not only kindled my love of reading and imagination, but also played a significant part in the development of a life-long love of pirates, history, and adventure.

I feel like the story is too short for the meaning and sentimentality behind it, being something of such personal significance for a number of reasons. But to go and expand on the story would consequently alter it into something it’s not meant to be and would hence rob it of what makes it meaningful to begin with. Therefore, we are stuck with an all too brief and atmospheric snapshot into the past, which for what it’s worth I feel is beautifully written and gets its intended message across. Which is what counts in the end.

A Dream of Pirates: (March 2019)

Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil did for all the rest, yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Treasure Island, the first book I vividly remember reading. Well, I didn’t read it. My dad read it to me of a night before bed. After we had moved up the coast, away from the big city to a small country town by the seaside. For the first few months after our move we lived in a small caravan park by the beach. I found myself falling asleep every night to the sound of the distant waves crashing upon the shore. Vivid images of cutlass wielding pirates, buried treasure, tropical islands and ships doing battle upon the sea coursed through my mind, fuelling my imagination and filling my dreams with tales of adventure and battle, ruthless buccaneers, handsome heroes, beautiful damsels in distress, and exotic, far off places. Looking back, this early obsession with pirates plays a significant role in my fascination with history, and most of all my love of reading and writing later in life.

Sometimes of a night, once my parents had gone to bed, and I felt the need to pee or get myself a drink, I would sneak out of the caravan, being careful to not make a sound as I slipped outside and wondered down to the beach. I recall one such occasion with such clarity as if it happened only yesterday, not some twenty-five years ago. I can’t say if what I saw was a mere figment of my excited child’s imagination, was a dream of such vivid detail that I confused it for reality upon waking, or was indeed a ghostly vision of a time centuries before. As if somehow my fevered imaginings had opened a portal through space and time, allowing me to see through the veil of centuries and into the past. What I can tell you is I had an experience that, whatever its nature, was of such profound significance that it stayed with me for all these years with a vividness unlike anything else I have ever experienced.

I was taking one of my regular late-night strolls from our caravan, winding my way through the labyrinth of caravans, campers, tents, and cottages before turning onto the path towards the ocean. The moon shone brightly in the sky, lighting the night with its soft, luminescent glow. Shrubs, mangroves, and grasses lined the sides of the sandy track as it snaked its way through the dunes and down towards the beach. Something rustled in the grass among the dunes and a bird of some sort cawed in the trees above as I strode along the path, my bare feet sinking into the soft, cool sand, leaving a track of footprints in my wake.

I walked onto the beach, the sand becoming noticeably deeper and colder as I strode down the sand until I came to the line where the waves reached their peak upon the shore and followed it for a time.

I stopped to stoop down and retrieve some pebbles and began to toss them into the water, seeing how far I could throw them out to sea.

Unexpectedly a curious sensation came over me and I stopped to take in my surroundings, giving my full attention to the night that engulfed me and now tickled at my senses with an indistinct feeling of surrealism. Everything suddenly felt vague and ethereal, like being trapped in a dream which one could not awake from, as my hair stood on end, goosebumps prickled my flesh, and my pulse increased, my breathing becoming heavier as I became more alert and aware of the night around me.

The steep cliff face of the large hillside that flanked the beach loomed menacingly above the shore, casting the beach nearby in a dark, malevolent shadow devoid of light. The foreboding shadow, hiding the rockpools below the cliff, where hermit crabs and small fish frolicked, from sight.

The waves lapped at the shore, rolling up onto the sand before receding back upon themselves. The sea was eerily calm with the swell of the waves laying quite close to shore. Beyond them the ocean lay as smooth as glass, the pale light of the crescent moon reflecting upon the surface of the water and making it shimmer like the stars that blinked down upon the earth from the heavens. Several large clouds drifted across the night sky, the light of the moon giving them a ghostly visage, so they appeared as phantoms floating among the stars that glittered like jewels within the black, abyssal darkness of space. The trees rustled in the breeze that blew through the night, cavorting to a song only they could hear.

It was then that I spotted it. Out beyond the waves a ship glided over the sea, its large, white sails fluttering in the wind as its bow cut a path through the inky darkness of the water. As it came closer, I recognised it distinctly as an old sailing ship from centuries past. Unable to believe my eyes I stood there in a state of shock and awe, staring at the mysterious ship as it approached, gradually growing as it loomed closer and closer.

Shaking myself out of my trance I raced across the sand and up the rocky path that snaked its way from the beach into the rolling hills of the coastal fields. Running up the beach I made my way towards where the headland overlooking the bay gave unobstructed views of the vast ocean beyond. Once cattle grazing land it now served as a recreational area for tourists and locals alike to have picnics, play sports, and relax away from the sand and surf, while providing them with scenic views of the beach and ocean beyond.

Breathing heavily with my legs aching from the physical exertion of the uphill run, I finally reached the top of the hill and looked out across the bay at the advancing ship.

The ship had turned with the tide and was making its way towards me as it followed the coast south, coming about on her starboard side to reveal two rows of ten cannons along her top and gun decks. Thanks to my reading of books on pirates, sailing, and naval warfare during the age of exploration I identified her as a small galleon. A relatively fast, well-armed and formidable ship capable of not just hunting down prey; but severely punishing anyone who dared resist.

As she skirted the coast past the headland, the skull and crossbones flag hanging from her masthead was clearly visible, fluttering lazily in the night wind with its infamous grinning skull mocking all unfortunate enough to set eyes upon it. Men scrambled among the rigging, swinging from ropes, racing deftly over narrow beams, and scurrying up and down the ratlines as they shouted and cursed to each other through the forest of masts, ropes, and timber beams and posts.

Heave to ya bilge rats. Come on ya godless sons of whores, on yar way, shouted a large, portly officer who stood amid ship, barking orders at the men around him, encouraging them to pick up the pace. The pirate in the crow’s nest kept a vigilant eye out for trouble, or the prospect of an easy target that could bring them some quick booty.

More buccaneers raced around on deck tending to the variety of tasks that consumed their daily lives. A group of men feverishly scrubbed the deck, scrapping off the layer of salt that built up, while others polished the ship’s cannons, cleaning out their barrels and clearing any obstructions. A large, burly sailor stood at the helm, steering the large wheel with practised ease as several other pirates crowded around a map and conversed nearby.

The bustle of conversation, shouted orders, curses, and song, piercing the night in a cacophony of noise as I stood amazed by the sight before me. As the galleon sailed past the headland, I got a good look at the men on board as they rushed about their work under the light of the pale glow of the moon, seemingly oblivious to my presence upon the hill. Covered in piercings, tattoos, and with a fair share of eye patches among them they were a fearsome bunch of hardened criminals, rebels and outcasts who had shunned society, and made a life of their own on the sea. They were the masters of their world, and the scourge of all who would dare oppose them.

I stood watching the phantom ship that had appeared out of the abyssal gulf of time, emerging from ages past into the modern era via some mystical means unknown to man and beyond the reach of science. Watching as it followed the coast in a southern trajectory for some time before turning to her port and moving back out to sea, casting a ghostly shadow upon the waves as she glided over the water and disappeared beyond the horizon.

The End.

Forsaken:

Introduction:

This story is a reimagining/rewriting of a piece of fanfiction I wrote back in 2006. The concept for the story was something I had in mind several years before that, making it one of my oldest stories. I always loved the concept of the story, and felt it was worth revisiting and composing as an original work outside of the fan-fiction universe it was original written in. The original story was lost to the depths of the internet many years ago.

Forsaken: (Originally written in 2006)

Amorran Kai stood in the doorway, staring out across the fields at the approaching dawn that was just beginning to inch its way across the horizon with the rising of the sun, the sun’s rays being a barely perceptible pearl light on the edge of the horizon. Dawn was only a couple of hours away and it wouldn’t be too long before the guards came to rouse them from their beds and herd them into the mess hall, before marching them out into the fields for the day’s work.

He swept his gaze over the five sleeping men in the shack they shared and scoffed, his thin, purple lips twisting into a sneer. Amorran turned his attention back to the world outside and continued to watch the advancing sunlight. He should be sleeping like the rest of them, but he hadn’t been able to sleep much since he had arrived here. His rage and thirst for revenge kept him awake at night. He had been too consumed by anger and hatred at the injustice done to him to sleep. He had been betrayed and cursed at the hands of the vile and treacherous Quanran Phar, the Inquisitor who was responsible for him being here. The one who was responsible for ruining his life, reputation, and promising career. It was Quanran Phar and his treachery that had engineered Amorran’s downfall, which had seen him cast out of the ranks of the warrior caste and doomed to that of the Forsaken. All because he desired Amorran’s woman, Viqui-Shan, and wanted to be free to pursue her, away from the vigilant gaze of her mate, who would beat him to death if he so much as touched her.

Viqui-Shan was of the warrior caste, and it was forbidden for members of different castes to breed or enter into relationships with each other. But Quanran Phar cared little for the sacred rules of their hierarchical society. He saw Viqui’s beauty and wanted her for his own, and because of his role as assistant to the Grand Inquisitor, Amorran was powerless to do anything about him harassing his woman, sans actually molesting or raping her. Amorran was an obstacle to Phar’s goal of getting his hands on her, so he concocted a fiendish plot to rid himself of his rival once and for all. Amorran was a member of domain Kai, and like many of his brethren a devout servant of the gods, and a dedicated warrior. Like all warriors he had undertaken numerous rituals and medical procedures to argument his body with biological implants and modifications, as a display of his prowess as a warrior, and to signify his devotion to the gods.

Their people, the Len-Dai, were experts at biologically engineering technology. It had formed the basis for their technological advancements for millennia. Cross breeding, advanced surgical procedures, genetic experimentation, and design from their biologists and bioengineers had led to their technology becoming biologically based. It was all thanks to the work of their Inquisitors, who were the physicians, scientists, engineers, and academics of Len-Dai society. The Inquisitors being one of the five caste systems. The other four were the warriors, priests, serfs, and the forsaken. The priests were the smallest, yet most significant caste, taking care of all spiritual and political matters in their theocratic society. The Inquisitors followed behind them, being significantly more numerous, yet relatively small in number. Followed by the warriors and then the serfs, the two largest castes numerically. Together the two castes made up 70% of the population.

The rest were those who had been abandoned, shamed, rejected, and cursed by the gods, destined to spend the remainder of their days on the fringes of society, wallowing in poverty and often being used as slave labour. They were the forsaken, the ones who had displeased the gods and had fallen from their good graces. Cowards, heathens, the disabled and deformed, they were the rejects of Len-Dai who had fallen to the lowest rung of society, from which there was no return.

Amorran growled low in his throat when he thought of how he had come to find himself among them. He had been a highly respected and decorated warrior. The veteran of numerous bloody campaigns where he had served with honour and brought pride and prestige to himself and his clan. Like all great Len-Dai warriors he had received numerous implants and modifications to his body that served as both weapons and symbols of his prowess in battle. Among the numerous alterations his body had endured the most significant was his left eye which had been replaced with a Mungdon. Which was a bulbus like creature genetically modified and designed to allow the host to see in the dark and possessed the ability to squirt a paralysing venom that sent the target’s nervous system into a state of paralysis.

Amorran was scheduled for a procedure to have a Sarrok implanted onto his left arm. Replacing his hand with the four taloned, claw like appendage that functioned as a lethal and effective stabbing and slashing weapon that could launch the claws like darts before rapidly growing new ones. The fiendish Quanran Phar had learnt of the operation and purposefully poisoned the medicines that were to be used in the procedure. The operation was successful, but soon after the